Another Path
by junebug19
Summary: What happens if Clary never went to the Pandemonium and missed that fateful meeting with Jace, Izzy and Alec? Clary is kidnapped by Valentine along with her mother and becomes part of Valentine's plans to take over the Clave. She meets her brother, Jonathan, before ever knowing Jace. Is their love predestined? Will they still find a way into each other's lives?
1. Chapter 1 Missed Opportunities

"That sucks, Simon. Want me to come over, bring some soup or something?" Clary asked, frowning into the phone.

"N-no, no, _hack, hack_ , Sorry about the plans tonight. But I don't want you going to Pandemonium without me," he groaned into the phone.

"Yeah, sure, Lewis, it wouldn't be any fun without you there anyway," she agreed. Although Simon never looked comfortable during their monthly forays to the Manhattan nightclub, Clary knew it wouldn't be the same without her best friend's steady and dependable presence. Plus who else would she jibe with?

"Well, I'm sending some good health waves to you," Clary continued, touching her right hand to her forehead as if she were really telegraphing fine fettle to Simon.

"Feel better already," Simon answered hoarsely.

"I'll come check on you tomorrow, if I don't see you at the Java, s'long partner."

After Simon said his goodbyes, Clary hung up the phone and looked blankly out the apartment window. It was another sweltering day, beginning of August, and only a few short weeks before school started again. She had really wanted to check out Pandemonium tonight but she told Simon she wouldn't go without him and he was clearly not feeling well enough to get out of bed today. She looked down at the clothes she had laid for the club, a black tanktop, skinny jeans, green converse and a fitted light cotton khaki green shirt she had planned to wear open over the tank. Suddenly she felt a strange wave of apathy, imagining a boring night ahead without even Simon to verbally spar and crack jokes with.

"Well there's really no reason why not to go alone other than just being chicken shit about it," she thought as she looked up at her reflection in the vanity mirror in her room. "Small, plain and round," she mentally labelled the mirror, a second hand affair with an antique-like elegance in its stooped base and long lean neck that opened up to a one foot wide view of her own face. "Could be describing that too," she thought as she peered at her profile. "Whatevs…"

She turned around and tossed herself onto her bed. Not a bad distance, she surprised herself. Usually the last person anyone would consider athletic but she had a strange perception of time slowing as she leaped in a surprising graceful sideways glide with her head landing squarely on her pillow. Somehow she had a vague and gnawing sensation that she was missing something important, maybe even life-changing by staying in tonight, but she dismissed this as part of her overblown, anime-consumed geeky romanticism. She picked up her sketchpad and let her pencil scratch over the sheer white surface at its own accord. An angel with golden hair, mesmerizing eyes and magnificent feathery wings effortlessly appeared.

{{0}}

Clary's mother, Jocelyn, seemed especially anxious today. Mom had obviously been relieved when she came home yesterday evening and saw Clary didn't go out. Even though Clary had cleared it with her a few days ago, her mother never looked happy when Clary went out after dark and insisted on a strict 11pm curfew. Still, she was more jittery than usual and looked to be packing some things away for storage. She did this once a year around Spring Cleaning time but Clary supposed her mom was just making it a bi-annual thing this year.

Clary kept her head down, sketching her mother as she moved nimbly around the apartment, placing various items into a brown cardbox box sweeping her hands around the shelves with a dust cloth. After some time, Clary glanced at what her mother was placing in the box and realized it was a treasured photo of her mother's, Clary and Luke at Coney Island, her mother and her smiling brightly at the camera while Luke turned to look at them both with an eye crinkling grin. She was just about to ask her mother why in the world she would pack away the photo, when there was a knock at the door.

Her mother walked swiftly to the door, looked through the peep hole and some tension in her shoulders seemed to lift as she opened the door.

"Luke," her mom greeted and leaned in with a one handed hug-pat.

Luke's eyes went down, mumbled a greeting and moved into the apartment with an armful of stacked cardboard boxes.

"Got lucky today," Luke announced. "Parking space right downstairs so we'll have an easier time getting some filled boxes in there. Ready for the trip?" Luke looked over at Clary with an upbeat wariness as if trying to put a happy face on something he knew she wouldn't like.

"What trip?" Clary asked confused.

"You didn't tell her?" Luke whispered to Jocelyn but it wasn't hard for Clary to hear him as he was only a yard away from where she was splayed on the couch.

She sat up looking at Luke and then her eyes shifted to her mother.

It became obvious that there was something up, something her mother had planned to spring on her.

"Not yet," Jocelyn said slowly as her bright green eyes moved onto Clary.

"Mom, what is it?" Clary's voice rose. She worked to control it.

"Clary, I decided to take an end of summer trip. To Luke's farmhouse, you know you love it there."

"Whaaat," Clary breathed, "How long? You know I still have another two weeks of art classes and Simon and I were planning to throw that party before school starts…"

"I'm sorry, Clary, you'll have to miss that. Simon will understand and I'll pay you back for the classes," Jocelyn hurried attempting a placating smile.

"MOOOOOMMMMMM! NO! Why do I have to go? I'm old enough to stay home by myself now. I'll be sixteen in a few days. Why are you sending me away right before my birthday!" she wailed. "Why do you do this? What are you hiding from me!"

Jocelyn's eyes grew large and she gulped before looking frantically at Luke.

Luke straightened, "Jocelyn, you need to talk with Clary. She's right. You need to tell her."

Just then, the front door swung open and Simon walked in jauntily.

"Whazzup, peeps? I'm all better," he announced as he patted his chest.

Jocelyn shrieked and Luke jumped with surprise.

"Simon, were you listening to us?" Jocelyn recovered.

"Jesus," Luke mumbled as he sweeped the hair off his forehead, "I'm leaving. Jocelyn, you and Clary need to talk." Luke's long legs stretched to the door. The door shut firmly behind him.

"N-nno," Simon responded, "Clary, I thought we were going to the poetry reading. Thought I'd pick you up rather than meet you there," Simon continued uncertainly.

Clary jumped up, grabbed her backpack and threw her wallet and phone inside it, "Yeah, we're leaving. I need some time to cool down, Mom."

Jocelyn was gripping the couch, "Clary, don't you think we should talk…"

"Later, Mom. I can't do this now," Clary moved quickly to the door, grabbing Simon's hand.

"Bye, Mrs. Fray!" Simon waved as he stumbled out, his arm stretched from Clary's tight grip.

{{0}}

Simon and Clary sat back into a pair of worn mismatching upholstered chairs hidden at the back of Java Jones. There was a small stage at the front and Eric was warming up, preparing for his poetry reading set.

Clary held her steaming black coffee in both hands, letting the heat warm her fingers.

She had already filled Simon in on all that transpired at home, vehemently describing her resentment and frustration at her mother. Why did she feel like her mother was always trying to keep her locked up. She was fairly certain she had the most rigid parent in the entire school, barely able to escape her mother's constant watchful eyes. Even now her phone buzzed for the third time as "Mom" displayed on the screen.

"Clary, she'll get over it. She always does. I think she needs something else to keep her occupied. Like a boyfriend." Simon rambled.

"Huh?" Clary's own emerald gaze widened at the thought. "Are you serious? She's never been the slightest bit interested in anyone like that."

"Yeah, well maybe she should," Simon continued, peering back at Clary, his deep chocolate brown eyes glistening, "Everyone should have some passion in their lives."

Clary snickered despite her gray mood, "Wow. Just wow. That's beautiful. Loving the pass-i-onez." She reached out, lightly nudging Simon in the shoulder.

Simon leaned forward, his features abruptly intense, nervously chewing on his lip.

"Clary, there's something I want to tell you," he managed to pull out.

Clary leaned toward him, a frown on her face, "What is it, Simon? You know you can tell me anything."

"I-uh-um…" Simon fumbled. Just then Clary's phone rang for the fifth time today.

"You better get that," Simon continued, looking down almost relieved.

"OK, I think she's going to blow a gasket if she doesn't hear from me," Clary apologized, bringing the phone to her ear.

"Mom, I told you Simon and I are just at Java Jones. I'll be back in an hour," Clary started.

"NO! Clary, no, I don't want you back home. Stay with Simon. Call Luke. Whatever you do, don't come back to the apartment. It's important, honey. I love you. Do what I say," her mother rushed.

"What?! Mom, what's wrong? Mom, MOM, MOMMM!" Clary wailed into the phone as she heard a loud thumping sound and the line went dead.

She looked up and realized she was surrounded by alarmed stares. She jumped out of the chair, grabbed her bag and raced to the door. As she was stepping out of the café, she felt someone grab her elbow and twirl her around. Her cellphone flew out of her hand, unable to keep it in her sweaty grip.

"Clary! What's happening? Where are you going?!" Simon cried, firmly holding her shoulders trying to keep her stationary.

"It's mom! Something's wrong. I have to go Simon, I have to go right now! Damn, my phone is broken," she realized as she bent to retrieve the cracked case and the black screen remained unchanged as she tried to call 911. "Call Emergency, Simon! I have to get to my mother, NOW!" she yelled as she ducked out of his hands and raced back home.

She didn't realize how fast she was going, until she noticed everything was a blur around her. It would have shocked her to stop if it wasn't a brief, secondary thought, all her focus on getting home, getting to her mother as fast as humanly possible.

When she reached the Brooklyn brownstone converted into a two story apartment building, she could feel something wasn't right. It was eerily quiet, the bulb in the foyer was out, only a muted glow from the sidewalk street lamps providing any light to continue her race up the stairs.

She halted to an abrupt stop when she reached the apartment door, wide open. The lights were on, the white rays streaming into the darkened hallway. She stepped gingerly into apartment, her eyes flickering all around trying to catch any movement or sign of her mother.

Looking around at a massive disarray of furniture, shredded cushions and canvas paintings, with no evidence of her mother, she knew it wasn't a good idea but she couldn't stop herself as she yelled out, "MOOMMM! Mom, where are you!"

"Now, **who** are you?" drawled a deep voice tinged with curiosity.

Clary spun around to see a tall, broad chested, middle aged man, white blond hair and black eyes blazing. By his side, her mother lay unconscious suspended in the air as if on an invisible stretcher. She looked unmarked, as if asleep. Clary noted the intake of her mother's breath as her chest rose and fell with relief.

Clary did not understand her reaction as she felt her body crouch down ready to spring at this man who under any normal circumstances she would never remotely consider attacking, being easily three times her size, muscles bulging, dressed in some kind of black warrior-like gear. But there it was again, that overpowering sensation of time slowing, unused calf muscles bunching together, arms outstretched and fingers pressed down to the ground as she vaulted at the man. He did not look surprised, only a small smile thinned his lips. He moved as if he joined her in this strange time crawling dimension, his left hand swung back and plucked her out of the air just as her right leg was about to reach his head. Tossing her to the side, her head knocked against the wall. The force of the throw denting the plaster. She felt paint chips and bits of the crumbling mortar fall over her as she lay a heap against the wall. Her head was spinning and she barely could make out his looming shape as the black dots grew and swarmed her vision.


	2. Chapter 2 Truth & Lies

Clary's eyes fluttered open. There was a fading ache in her head. Her body was stretched on a bed. The mattress was board-like and stiff, a white cotton sheet covering the hard mattress and a utilitarian brown wool blanket pulled up to her chest. As memories began to drift back of her last waking moments, she sat up with alarm. Remembering her head's collision with the wall, she was momentarily surprised that her head was not spinning from her quick movements. Her fingers delicately reached up to check the damage, but she could feel no bumps or scrapes. It actually felt OK. She let her arms hug around herself as a cold wave of anxiety consumed her thoughts. It was then that she felt a swirling mark raised on the inner skin of her right arm. She didn't know what it was but upon inspecting it closely it looked like some kind of symbol. The white lines were only just visible but they felt … right.

Where was her mother? Was she okay? Did she wake up? That was mission one. Find her mother.

Clary got out of bed and looked down to see she was wearing a white cotton nightgown. Long, flowing sleeves with a hem that skimmed her ankles, she felt like a damsel drifting from some distant past. Certainly not something anyone she knew would sleep in. Perhaps someone's grandmother? Who had changed her clothes? How did she get here?

She moved toward a large window. It was clearly open as the sheer white drapes drifted with a light breeze. It smelled clean, fresh, invigorating really. She didn't remember ever smelling the air so energizing. Wherever she was, it was still summer. The deep warmth of the sun caressing her face as she moved the drapes aside to see rolling green hills, dotted with wildflowers, pink, yellow, purple. The scent was a heady mix of florals and fresh greens.

She turned to look for some clothes to change into. She couldn't let herself get caught up in the beauty of this place. She had to find her mother and get out of here.

She found some cotton drawstring pants and a loose sleeveless shirt to pull over head. They were a bit large, but she rolled up and tucked in the pant legs to stay fitted above her converse sneakers she was grateful to find beneath the bed.

The door was unlocked. She crept slowly out, taking in the long hallway. It was a large house. Seemed like at least another four rooms on each side of the hallway to her right. To her left was another doorway and a stairway leading up and down.

She moved down the right hallway, leaning her head against each of the doors listening for any sounds of life within. As she reached the third door down, the door swung open to reveal the frightful man who had thrown her at a wall. He put an arm firmly down on her shoulder and bore an intense gaze into her eyes.

"Come in, Clarissa, isn't it?" he asked and pulled her into the room, his grip still firm on her shoulder.

"You're Jocelyn's daughter," he stated. "How old are you?"

It was a strange question and Clary stared at him a bit dumbfounded. His manner was abrupt but not unkind. He was used to holding attention and getting a quick answer. His black eyes grew impatient and he somehow seemed to grow larger before her.

"I'll be sixteen by the end of the week." She answered, deciding the direct approach was best with his forceful presence.

She was surprised when he didn't follow immediately with another question or comment. She could hardly see why her age was important. He looked calm but she noticed the muscles in his jaws tensing then relaxing.

"You look very much like her," he finally said, "My name is Valentine Morgenstern."

He turned away from her and moved into the spacious room. It was an office, a large oak pedestal desk at its center surrounded by matching darkwood shelves filled with books. Ceiling to floor picture windows were set behind the desk, revealing another angle of the same glorious green view she had witnessed from the room where she awoke.

"What do you know about your father, Clarissa?" he asked. "Do sit down," he continued as he gestured to the leather chairs stationed in front of the desk.

"He's dead. I've never met him. Accident before I was born." Clary clasped her left fist within her right hand into her lap. "What have you done with my mother? Why are we here?"

Valentine looked her up and down, seemingly sizing her up.

"Clarissa, your mother is safe. Tell me, do you know what you are? I could see no evidence of a life outside of the mundane for you."

"What are you talking about?" she puzzled. "Let me see her. Let me see my mother."

"Of course, in good time," he asserted, nodding his head once. "So, you know nothing it appears." He sat back in his chair behind the desk, "You are one of the chosen, Nephilim. You are my daughter."

{{0}}

Clary sat in her "room." Her head swimming. Valentine's story sounded insane but somehow much of it rang true. She held an old photo in her hands. A picture more than a decade old; Her mother seated with Valentine behind her, his hand resting on her shoulder and on her lap, a beautiful baby with white-blond hair gazing calmly ahead. Her mother looked lovely, of course. She always looked lovely, but she was not smiling. Her expression was blank. Her beautiful green eyes dull, not the lively vision full of emotion that Clary had always known. And the baby, her brother, her older brother, sitting upright on her mother's lap. He couldn't have been much more three months old and yet appeared impossibly self-contained, one hand placed precociously above the other.

So she was Nephilim, a shadow hunter, a half angel-half human being placed on Earth to protect humans from demons, real-live demons. There were other wicked creatures roaming the Earth. According to Valentine, there were vampires, werewolves, warlocks and fairies; all possessed by demon blood or a demon virus.

Her mother had been deceived. Believed Valentine and her son, Jonathan Christopher Morgenstern, were dead; killed by leaders of the Shadowhunter community, the Clave. Valentine and his family had tried to leave the Shadowhunter world, unable to accept the will of a Clave who would not exact retribution for the murder of Valentine's father, her grandfather, at the hands of vampires. The Clave viewed the Morgensterns as trouble-makers and accepted the lies spouted by these vampires, that they were only defending themselves from Morgenstern fanaticism. But the Clave would not allow a peaceful departure, forcing Valentine to flee with his son. Jocelyn in turn escaped with Clary, taking every precaution to hide them both from the Shadowhunter world and certain death.

Valentine had spent all these years searching for Jocelyn, not even knowing that she had borne their second child. When he finally discovered her it seemed a warlock, employed by the Clave, has also found her and placed her under a spell to transport her quietly back to the Clave. Valentine had come upon this scene just as the warlock was about to take her away and he had eliminated the warlock just before Clary arrived.

At this point in Valentine's story, Clary had grown so weary, shell shocked at the possibilities of this tale that Valentine agreed to continue at a later time. He instructed her to go to her room and lie down; that someone would bring her a meal and he would procure suitable attire for her. Starting tomorrow she would begin training. Apparently she was years behind the appropriate shadowhunter training but Valentine noted approvingly she was naturally gifted.

Clary had not seen another soul since her meeting with Valentine. Surely there were other people here. A house this size could not be maintained by a bachelor and … his son … alone. It dawned on her then that she had a brother. Something she had longed for as she grew up an only child. Someone who knew her, who could share her thoughts and protect her.

Just then, there was a knock at the door. It was a firm rap. The door opened and there stood a tall, white-haired boy. He was all white and black. Pale skin, white-blond hair and the deepest, darkest eyes she had ever seen. He was lean, sinewy and completely gorgeous. She couldn't tell how long they just stared at each other. She knew who he was and felt thoroughly overwhelmed. His coloring and height marked him as Valentine's child but she could also see her mother in his fine features, sharp cheekbones and high forehead. She couldn't begin to describe the tumult of emotions she was experiencing.

"I've brought you something to eat," he stated, his eyes never leaving her face as he set down a tray with a sandwich, carrot sticks and a bowl of soup. "I never knew you existed. I'm Jonathan, your brother."

"Clary. I'm Clary. I … I'm … so glad to meet you," she said haltingly.

"I'm so glad to know you, sister," he answered and walked toward her. Sitting down on the bed beside her, he reached over and gently brushed her cheek with his fingers. They were rough and callused but everything about him emanated strength.

She unconsciously moved her face into his hand and closed her eyes for a brief moment. When she opened them, he was still staring intensely into them. She couldn't tell what he was thinking or feeling despite the mild nature of his touch.

He lowered his hand then, "We'll begin training tomorrow. Father has tasked me with your combat regimen. He will teach you the runes."

He stood up without breaking their gaze then finally turned and walked out of the room. She realized how draining that experience was once he left the room. Completely exhausted, she crawled under the covers and let the fatigue carry her away from consciousness.


	3. Chapter 3 Jonathan

Jonathan had not known what to expect but he certainly had not expected the reality of her. A tiny thing, delicate porcelain features and long, glossy, flaming curls, but that steely emerald gaze had bizarrely cleared all thoughts from his head. For a moment he had no preconceived intentions to conquer and subjugate. It was disconcerting.

He was in the training room, kicking and punching at the heavy punching bag hung by a thick iron chain attached to the rafters above. With a nimble pivot he flung two throwing knives at the target stationed at the other side of the room, a good fifty feet away, both landing squarely in its center with a resounding thunk. He continued his workout, his mind drifting to an earlier conversation with his father.

"You understand the story, Jonathan," his father commanded, "You must not diverge from it."

"Yes, father, of course," Jonathan kept his watchful eyes on his father, to store away for his usual examination and careful dissection of his father's objectives. "Is she like me?" Jonathan was startled the words came out of his mouth. He had taken in the news that he had a sister without a flicker of emotion, a picture of interminable calm but his mind was not so controlled in this case.

"She is her mother's child. Your mother," Valentine amended. "Her veins course with angel's blood. Yours do not. You know this."

"She is also your child as am I," Jonathan once again did not understand himself. Experience had taught him his father possessed little patience and may construe his comments as argumentative.

Something flickered in Valentine's eyes but Jonathan could not catch its meaning. "You are my child. You are a warrior and the best shadowhunter of any generation. Together we will clean the taint of the Clave's old world views and forge a new order of shadowhunters, revered and vaunted as the heroes of the human race."

Jonathan only nodded.

"You must make her trust you. You must make her love you. She will not confess her secrets to me. She is wary of me. I believe she holds the key to finding the mortal cup. She has some special abilities. I can feel it and I will find out what they are."

"Very well, father," Jonathan accepted, lowering his head but not his eyes.

{{0}}

Jonathan came to her door at the appointed time, 2pm, after her morning studies with their father. He had not seen her since they had met and felt a buzzy excitement he only felt when dispatching an opponent. He stood at her door for a few minutes trying to decipher what it meant, whether it was a weakness or a boon. Finally he gave up. He only knew he wanted to see her. He would fulfil his father's mission and he would do it well as he always did.

He knocked on the door, heard her murmured invitation and opened it. She was ready for him. Dressed in training gear, loose baggy pants and a more fitted tank; her bright hair held tightly away from her face in a high bun. He could see she was not left unmarked from her tutorial with their father. Her arms blazed with runes. The Voyance rune, of course, strength, agility, far sightedness and sure footedness. He was a bit amazed that she could handle the impact of so many runes so quickly. She had only ever been marked with an iratze healing rune and it typically took a year before a shadowhunter beginning training could control the effect of multiple runes at once.

He felt a tinge of anxiety that he could not place and realized he was actually worried for her welfare. This was a revelation. He had never felt any sympathy or concern for anyone. It had always been a subterfuge, a mask of human emotion.

Her green eyes were hard but sparkled. They brandished her determination. She had been hurt. That was clear and not surprising after an encounter with their father. He would not pry but he had practiced kindness, had been painstakingly trained to charm, exude empathy, and foster rapport.

"Are you ready, Clary? Can you do this now?" he asked gently.

"Yes, let's do this." She responded, gliding toward him and clasped his hand in hers.

{{0}}

They had trained for a full three hours. It was remarkable how quickly she picked up the techniques. It would not take long before she could join him in a live fight. She was using wooden practice swords on a dummy, learning to swing with force through the core. The runes on her arm had faded an hour ago but she persevered, her body glistening with sweat that clung to her workout gear.

"That's enough, Clary. This is your first day, you don't want to make it impossible for yourself to train tomorrow." Jonathan smiled. "You must be hungry. Come, we'll eat together."

"I need to be ready. I have to defend my mother … my family. Valentine told me. They're coming for us. Unless we stop them first," she answered.

"Clary, you have my promise. You will be completely ready to fight, to defend our mother and destroy the Clave. I will be by your side all the way and to the end. I am your family and I will take care of you," Jonathan affirmed, "But you must rest now."

It felt easy and natural to walk over to her, take her by the shoulders and hold her against him. They were both hot and sweaty but holding her felt good. His chin rested above her head. He felt her turn her head to the side and press her cheek to his chest. She sighed and he could feel her release some tension from her body.

"Good girl." Still embracing her shoulders, he led her out of the training room after returning the practice swords to their stand. They walked to her room.

"I'll be back in twenty minutes." Jonathan cupped her face between his hands and tenderly brushed her cheeks with his thumbs. He realized he was becoming lost in her eyes. They stood very close as he bent his head and lightly caressed her lips with his own. As he pulled back, he could see her surprise. Her eyes were luminous and her mouth had opened slightly. The sight of her pink, cushiony lips shaped in an "o" made him want to press his mouth over hers again and again but he knew she would draw away.

He stepped back and grinned, tapping a finger under her chin, "Don't want you catching any flies in that pretty mouth of yours."

She frowned with consternation, then shook her head and turned into her room.

{{0}}

Jonathan paused by her door. He had quickly showered and dressed in slender black slacks and a snug long sleeve black shirt. He knew the outfit emphasized his long lean body and muscled frame. He was about to knock and summon Clary for dinner when he heard a crack and the thumping sound of collapsing weight.

"That is enough," Valentine's deep voice boomed. "You will not question me. This is a warning. Ordinarily such insolence would earn a whipping."

Jonathan could hear Valentine's heavy steps reach the door. He moved swiftly to the side as the door swung open. Valentine's face was slightly flushed. Jonathan recognized the rigid stance that usually preceded a beating. Seeing Jonathan standing by the doorway, Valentine turned to him.

"You must teach Clary the error of her ways. I will not so easily forgive another outburst." He proceeded away, quickly disappearing down the stairs.

Jonathan turned back into Clary's room and slowly moved in to survey the damage. She was on the floor, on her knees, a hand held up, covering a large red welt on her face and her eyes glittering with unshed tears. There was unmistakable white fury in her hard gemlike eyes. He walked over and knelt beside her, facing her.

"Clary, what did you do?" he asked softly.

"I want to see my mother and I want to go back to Brooklyn. Luke … and my best friend, Simon, need to know I'm OK. They must be worried sick." Her voice was stony.

"Valentine is not a kind man. He is exacting and expects nothing less than perfect obedience," Jonathan continued in a gentle tone. "But he is our father. He does what he must to protect us, to make us strong, invincible." Jonathan reached out and lifted her hand away from her face. He saw the clear outline of the blow. It would leave an ugly bruise but he knew his father. He would not want this iratzed away. He would want Clary to see the damage, feel the pain and remember how he repaid disrespect.

"This isn't right. He isn't right." Clary would not back down.

Jonathan found himself surprised by her resolve; that she was not afraid. She was always surprising him. Once again, she spurred something in him. Something he could not name and had never experienced before. He wanted to kiss her again. Desire ignited inside him. It thoroughly perplexed him.

"You are my sister. You and I are one and the same. Finally, there is another … like me," he declared involuntarily.

Her eyes widened. She looked confused. "Yes, you are my brother. Of course I'm glad we discovered each other but I don't know. I'm not sure we are so alike."

"I'm sorry. I don't mean to alarm you," he smiled tenderly. "It's just I've always been alone, just me and father and now you're here and it's like I've woken from a dream." He didn't know where the words came from. He knew his mission. He knew he had to make her trust him, care for him, but he could not calculate. His mind would not cooperate.

She looked touched, moved closer, put her arms around his neck and hugged him. "How about that dinner, then?"


	4. Chapter 4 Another Jonathan

There were no calendars in the manor to mark the passing days. Clary had been superciliously informed by her father this was not a house, it was a manor. She did not like the man. He was cold and hard and she could not detect any affection in his treatment of her. At times she felt like he hated her, that he harbored a steep resentment against her that he could not completely hide. But she learned to admire his knowledge, the sheer power and confidence he exuded.

He had finally allowed her to visit her mother. At first the sight of her mother, prostrate and helpless on a large canopied bed, frightened her deeply. She was under a powerful enchantment Valentine explained. It preserved her body in stasis. She required no sustenance. She just slept. Unlike his treatment of his daughter, he seemed to dote on his wife. Was she still his wife? After more than sixteen years apart, could they still be considered husband and wife? Evidently Valentine thought so. He spent several hours each day with her mother. She had observed him gently brushing her hair, holding her hand, whispering into her ear.

He had taught Clary the runes and given her a stele. It was as if an appendage she hadn't even known was missing had been reattached and a whole new world opened to her. She learned every rune in the gray book. Valentine did not say anything but she knew he marveled at this. He was constantly testing her, instructing her to draw the most random obscure runes like slowed breath, acute smelling and freed inhibition at any given moment. Once he had even commanded she draw a portal rune, something that did not exist in the gray book. It flashed in her mind's eye and she created it. He had been speechless then and ceased testing her.

Still, the best part of her day was training with Jonathan. He was a wonderful teacher. Patient, encouraging, firm, he knew how to get the best out of her. She was amazed at the changes in her body and her physical abilities. Her muscles grew compact and unyielding. Her posture improved and she felt as if she had grown.

Her feelings for her brother were hard to describe. Their training took up at least six hours a day. It was easy to lose herself in the whirl of brute exertion. Leaps, kicks, strikes and the handling of myriad weapons filled their time. Somehow they were beautiful to her now. Their gleaming strength, the flash of a true hit; this sent a thrill up her spine. Watching Jonathan move with an astonishing swiftness and inhuman grace, his devastating blows and throws; that was beautiful. He was her inspiration and her guide.

She suffered under Valentine's attentions. He had no cause to strike her again and he seemed to take some pride at what she achieved. He encouraged her to spend some time alone each day to see if she could unlock any other undiscovered runes. He did not push her and did not seem disappointed when she had nothing new to show him. He was vastly pleased with the portal rune even though it seemed only she could wield it. Neither Valentine or Jonathan could accomplish it. It simply would not hold for them. The black and silver swirls would appear for only a flashing moment when they attempted the rune.

She had accompanied Valentine and Jonathan through one of her rune created portals. They had transported back to her Brooklyn apartment, marked with glamour runes to keep them invisible from ordinary eyes. It seemed as the portal's creator she had to deem where it sent them and it had to be a place she could clearly envision. Her father explained that they were searching for the mortal cup. With it they would spawn a new race of shadowhunters loyal to his righteous cause. Her mother had stolen it away from the Clave to fulfil their vision but they were separated before she could bring it to him and bring their plans to fruition. Jocelyn had believed Valentine and her son were dead, killed by the uncompromising will of the Council and gave up their plans. All her efforts focused on keeping Clary and herself away from the clutches of the Clave. Something inside her did not entirely believe Valentine but he spoke with such conviction. There was no pause or waver to his voice and his imposing charisma seemed to overpower her uncertainty.

The apartment was bare. Clary did not know who removed all their furnishings. It hurt. It felt like someone had carried away all traces of her life with her mother and discarded them. She whispered as much in Jonathan's ear. He looked down at her then, his onyx eyes glittering. He draped an arm over her shoulders and his other hand gently cupped her face.

"You are my life now and I am yours," he replied.

Clary did not know how to respond to such declarations. She knew their relationship was not like ordinary siblings but she tried to reassure herself that this was because they were demon killing machines who had not known of each other's existence until a few short months ago. She could not deny he was the only comfort in her daily life; that she depended on him and warmed at the sight of him. She did not want or try to examine these feelings.

"We should really see Luke. If anyone knows anything, he would," Clary spoke quickly in a hushed voice. She knew Valentine detested any mention of Luke. He would not tell her why or what happened but they knew each other and somehow Luke had wronged him. Why her mother would befriend this man, in fact so implicitly trust him that she would often leave her child in his care and make him her closest confidante was a subject she was not permitted to broach and added to the skepticism she sometimes fought to keep out of her thoughts. She wanted to believe Valentine. She would not define her feelings for her brother but she knew she would break without him and he would never defy their father.

"Clary," her father summoned. "Think. There must be something you know. Something that will aid our search."

Clary swallowed and closed her eyes. She racked her memories trying to come up with something. Suddenly her mind went blank and a glowing image came to her. It was unusual in its lack of elegant swirls and dips. Dashing lines formed a box, a circle inside it with thick rays darting from it like a sun. "To divine," she uttered.

"What was that?" Valentine questioned. Both he and Jonathan watched her carefully.

"A new rune, father. One that will lead us to the mortal cup," she answered. Even as she said the words she knew this rune was something more but she had to uncover its mysteries on her own.

"Do it then," her father commanded.

She moved to a bare white wall and proceeded to draw the rune with thick slashes and dots. It shimmered brightly, pulsing as if waiting for something.

"The mortal cup," she named. The glowing rune disappeared and in its place was a shadowy image. A tall golden haired, golden eyed boy stood before her. He held out a large, heavy card, larger than his hand. It held a picture of a bejeweled aureate cup painted in her mother's unmistakable strokes. Then, the specter dissolved.

"Jonathan," her father said faintly.

"The other one," her brother uttered in a derisive tone. Clary's eyes widened at her brother. She had never heard his voice so cold. She wondered that they knew this boy. He had a regal yet predatory demeanor that reminded her of a lion. He looked about her brother's age, seventeen, with a similar lean yet well-muscled form. He had been dressed in the black gear she had come to know as the shadowhunter's warrior uniform. He was a shadowhunter.

"Are they all so beautiful?" she thought to herself, then shook her head as she realized she was a shadowhunter as well.

"I will need to ponder these developments," Valentine finally broke the silence. "Clary create a portal home."


	5. Chapter 5 Enter Magnus Bane

**Hi folks, I'm still getting the hang of publishing on fanfiction. I love the TMI series and have had so much fun reading a lot of the works on this site. Some really great ideas. I wish I came up with them! Anyway, I truly appreciate any follows, favorites and reviews. Hope you enjoy.**

 **Disclaimer: Cassandra Clare is the genius who came up with it all. Love her and love her writing.**

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Magnus Bane did not believe he was doing the smart thing. But then again, he was hardly known for being smart. Impetuous and brilliant, yes, but no, not smart, never smart. He sighed deeply as he made his way to the Clave's New York Institute. It was impressive if you liked archaic, gothic and colossal architecture but that did not float Magnus' boat.

It was generally a bad idea to get involved with shadowhunters. He had a few run-ins with them in the past and as a whole their lot had treated him with disdain. Oh he was plenty good enough to be called in for some assignment that required his magical expertise but there was an expectation that he should be summoned and dismissed at their whim. Even so, he did not always answer there call. Sometimes he just could not be bothered despite the exorbitant fees he charged.

It had actually been years since he visited the NY institute in Manhattan even though he resided a fairly short distance away at a waterfront loft in Brooklyn. The heads of the institute, Maryse and Robert, had too much of the Lightwood imperiousness to suit his taste. This time, though, he was not coming to them to answer their call. This time he had some alarming news to impart. He hoped he was doing the right thing. He already knew it wasn't smart but he could not just pretend he didn't know anything. Not when it could very well mean a catastrophic turn of events.

He had already sent a message to the Lightwoods to expect his visit so he was a bit surprised when he knocked at the heavy wooden door it opened to a pair of midnight blue eyes set against a chiseled alabaster face topped with a tousled sweep of thick black hair. It was a very young shadowhunter. He was just slightly shorter than Magnus which meant he was very tall. Magnus almost never encountered anyone who came so close to his own height. Now this one, this one definitely floated his boat.

"Hi," Magnus smiled lazily. "I believe Maryse and Robert Lightwood are expecting me?"

"Um, yeah, okay," the dreamy shadowhunter responded. "Come in, I'll show you the way."

As Magnus followed his trail, he noticed this shadowhunter moved with a slouch, as if he wanted to deflect attention. It was unusual for a shadowhunter and especially unusual for such an exquisite human specimen.

"I'm Alec, by the way," the shadowhunter announced shyly.

"Charmed. I'm Magnus Bane, high warlock of Brooklyn."

They stopped at the library and entered the chamber. Magnus walked in and was greeted by the sight of four Nephilim already assembled casually at the front of the room. Maryse stood at the center, behind the large marble desk held up by the straining visages of carved angels. Two young shadowhunters stood to her right. One was all tawny and gold. Gold hair, gold eyes. He was carelessly leaning against a reading table with an arrogant but sharply assessing gaze. The other was a younger version of Maryse. Tall and confident, long straight black hair without a strand out of place. Both were quite lovely to look at in all their proud youthful glory but couldn't hold a candle to Alec, thought Magnus.

At Maryse's left was someone not so pleasant to behold. Hodge Starkweather stood, a large black bird perched on his shoulder. His face was lined and well worn. The years had taken a heavy toll. Magnus knew Hodge was about the same age as Maryse but looked much older.

"So, Magnus," Maryse took charge. "You wanted to talk. Tell us what is so important that you would grace us with your presence. I'd begun to think that you left New York altogether. You haven't answered our calls over the last ten years," she said in a rebuking tone.

"Very busy," Magnus replied. "Anyway, I knew a lesser warlock could provide the services you required and I thought I'd spare you my expense," he said with a gracious bow. "Now for the matter at hand," Magnus continued. "Some Nephilim have disappeared. Abducted without a trace. Mother and daughter."

"What?" Maryse looked surprised. "How would you know this and more importantly, why wouldn't I?"

"It's an unusual case." Magnus sat down, folding one leg over the other. "The mother is Jocelyn Morgenstern."

Maryse looked shocked. Finally, she sat back, her hands flat on the desk. "She was here? In New York, all these years?"

Yes, in Brooklyn actually. She came to me. She had to protect her child. She never believed Valentine perished. She wanted a normal life for them, safe, away from the Nephilim."

Maryse stayed silent. She looked amazed. There was a shuffle and a scraping sound as Hodge appeared to stumble back and leaned heavily against a chair. His face took on a sickly gray pallor.

"Well, if she turned her back on the Nephilim, what is she to us?" asked the golden one. He stood straight, looking concerned at Maryse who also grew quite pale.

"Exactly," mouthed mini-Maryse who was now scowling at Magnus.

"Jace. Isabelle." Maryse seemed to waken from her stupor, naming the two shadowhunters Magnus did not know. "Jocelyn was Valentine's wife. The child … is it ...?"

"Yes," Magnus answered. "A girl. Valentine's child."

"And … who took them? How do you know they didn't just leave?" Maryse asked thinly.

"I had an appointment with them. When they didn't show and I heard nothing from Jocelyn, I went to check on them. Their apartment was a shambles and I was able to weave a past-present spell. I could see the last few minutes of their presence in the apartment. Valentine had his wife. She was unconscious and then the girl arrived." Magnus paused then, struck by the memory of the vision. "She attacked him but he disabled her quickly. He took them both away."

"So, he's alive," Maryse murmured.

"What does he want with them?" asked Jace at the same time.

"I cannot say," Magnus answered. "But I can assure you, they are in danger."

Maryse seemed deep in thought. "What does he want?" she asked distractedly.

"The cup," blurted Hodge.

Five heads turned to him questioningly.

"What cup?" Jace was the first to question.

"The mortal cup," Maryse breathed. "It's been missing since Valentine disappeared. He always planned to take it from the Clave but since the failed Uprising and his declared death, it was considered lost."

"But what does that have to do with his wife and daughter?" Isabelle stretched her long legs as she bent against the long reading table next to Jace.

"Jocelyn … She must have taken it. What was she doing with it?" Maryse concluded, her blue eyes bright with wonder.

"Well, she sure as hell wasn't handing it to Valentine," Magnus said with exasperation. He wasn't sure he liked their line of thinking. It didn't seem that they were at all concerned with what happened to Jocelyn, but more importantly to Magnus, what happened to Clary. He had grown accustomed to Jocelyn after so many years. He knew she had ultimately rejected Valentine's insanity. She had played a pivotal role in crushing the Circle's uprising after years at his side and he had grown to admire her strength and tenacity. He respected her and shared her aversion of the Shadowhunter community. But it was Clary he had grown to love. He had known her as a two year old baby and had seen her mature through the years. Sadly, she knew nothing of him since he only ever met her to temporarily wipe away her shadowhunter vision. Still, each time they "met," she retained a fearlessness and eager curiosity that sometimes terrorized his cat but he found endearing. She was an innocent if ever there was one and he could not stand back and do nothing knowing she was endangered. "Look. You are the angel appointed guardians of this world. It's your duty to find them. Help them. They certainly didn't leave willingly and … Jocelyn holds the key to the mortal cup. She was clearly keeping it from him. We don't know what he plans to do with it but we all know it's nothing good."

Maryse nodded slowly. Jace looked excited, Isabelle seemed to be examining her boots, wickedly impressive spiked heels with an array of runes denoting power and agility, and Alec ... Alec just stared disconcertingly at Magnus. Magnus noticed what Alec was wearing, a loose fraying gray sweater and black jeans. It was easier to look at that than return his intense scrutiny. It was jolting. It felt as if Alec was looking into his soul and Magnus found himself strangely anxious about what he might see.

"Yes, we must find them," Maryse declared. Her voice strengthened with determination. "I have to contact the Council. They need to know about Valentine. I'll probably have to return to Idris to discuss this in person and make some arrangements for Max. Alec, Jace, Isabelle, you must not try to find Valentine yourselves. Leave this matter to the adults."

All three seemed to bristle at this statement but only Alec responded, "I'll be eighteen in a few weeks. I'm practically an adult shadowhunter, myself."

"Alec, you know what I mean. Even if you were already eighteen I would not want you to go head to head against Valentine. That man almost destroyed the Clave. He almost destroyed me and your father," her voice broke and she lowered her head.

"Mother," both Alec and Isabelle cried as they reached out to her. Jace also huddled closed to her.

"Hodge, I expect you to watch out for them. Take care of them. Send word immediately if there is any sign of Valentine … or Jocelyn and her daughter," Maryse finished with a glance at Magnus.

"I'll take my leave now," Magnus conceded as he turned to the door. To his surprise he felt a warm hand below his elbow.

"I'll walk you out," said Alec.

"Thank you," replied Magnus. "There's something you should know about Jocelyn's daughter," Magnus began as he faced the room full of shadowhunters again. "She does not know she is a shadowhunter. She's been raised as a mundane. That's why her mother engaged my services, to keep that part of her life hidden from her eyes." Magnus could feel their outraged glares but he remained unmoved. "It was a temporary measure. I would not permanently blind her but I had to cast the spell at least every two years to dispel the sight. You will have to be cautious with her. She must know something of what she is by now and I can't imagine how she may be handling it. It's been over two years and three months since the last casting and as she grew older it seemed the weaves wore off quicker."

"You kept the truth from her. You let her mother lie to her." Jace's expression was hard.

"I did what I thought was right. I would not injure her. I understood why her mother wanted to keep her from your world. It's a vicious way to live," Magnus stopped. "You should know her name. It's Cl..," Magnus was interrupted as the large raven flew off Hodge's shoulder and started frantically circling and squawking around them.

"Get that bird out of here, Hodge!" Maryse shouted as Hodge tried to draw the bird away and Jace and Isabelle remained protectively around Maryse.

Magnus left the room and found Alec by his side. They moved through the long corridors without speaking a word.

Alec broke the silence as they walked into the caged elevator, "You care about her. The girl … and her mother, I think."

"I do. I've watched her grow up since she was a tiny little thing. She's strong. She would have made a good shadowhunter although I wouldn't wish that fate on anyone," Magnus spoke without thinking. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to offend," he added contritely.

"That's okay," Alec smiled. "I think I understand. But it's not as bad as you think. It's really pretty cool in a lot of ways. Like, I wouldn't have met you if I weren't a shadowhunter."

Magnus returned the smile and found himself genuinely pleased. His heart actually beat faster as Alec drew closer to open the elevator door. They had reached the ground floor.

"Alec, I can honestly say, I've never met a shadowhunter I wanted to see again before you," Magnus flirted and winked as he whimsically added, "Call me."

He was about to turn and head out into the Manhattan night, when Alec reached for him again and said bluntly, "I don't have your number."

Magnus was stunned and against his better judgment peered directly into Alec's sapphire orbs. He saw only an intense sincerity and longing in those eyes and could not pretend it did not affect him. Blue sparks leaped out of his fingertips and a card appeared in his hand. He gently placed the card in Alec's hand. "So now you have it."

Magnus returned Alec's shy smile and then walked into the cool city night feeling a stirring in his heart that he had not felt in a very long time.


	6. Chapter 6 Clary's Mission

**I think it's picking up now! Clace to come (not yet but soon)! Thanks very much for the reviews, favs and follows. Very encouraging.**

 **Disclaimer: Love TMI, love Cassandra Clare's writing. She owns it all ...**

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Clary sat in Valentine's study, anxiously waiting for him and her brother. Apparently he had some big news to reveal and being the drama queen he was, he had to build up the suspense, she smirked to herself. Of course, she would never give voice to her little jokes to herself and suddenly she felt quite sad. She missed Simon terribly. She never had to watch her mouth around Simon. Now she was practically a robot, always stifling some thought or emotion. Everything was careful, careful, watch yourself, measure the response, hold your breath and continue …

She found herself spending less and less time with her mother. Not that it was a very productive use of time. Her mother showed no signs of any awareness. She had stopped speaking to her mother during these visits, telling her what she was doing, what she was feeling, her worries and hopes. It seemed pointless and she did not entirely trust that she could speak freely even in front of her senseless mother. It was beginning to feel like Valentine was everywhere and knew everything.

The door at the back of the library swung open revealing both Valentine and his son. Jonathan almost reached his father's height. It wouldn't be long before he surpassed it. Clary wasn't sure who made the more impressive figure. There was no doubt Valentine commanded a room but Jonathan held a spark in his features that spoke of untold depths and was definitely prettier. His stark white hair had grown and now brushed his broad shoulders. It suited him, she thought. She wondered who had trimmed it before. Both wore the same impassive expressions and strode into the room. She had lately learned that Valentine's office had two doors. The one behind his desk was normally hidden behind heavy drapes but she had spied its existence not long ago after they had returned from Brooklyn. She had sat in this very room with Jonathan standing at her side while Valentine paced back and forth. He had abruptly pushed aside the drapes, opened the mysterious door and left them as he walk down darkened steps. Jonathan had cleared his throat and shook his head with disapproval when Clary had stood up, ready to investigate this doorway, and led her back to her own room when it became apparent Valentine would not be returning any time soon.

Valentine took his customary position, seated behind his desk facing Clary. Jonathan stood behind her.

"I'm sending you and your brother back to New York. You will find the other Jonathan and uncover the meaning of the vision your rune revealed." Valentine instructed.

Clary waited. Valentine would let her know when she was permitted to speak.

"There are things you should know about the time your mother and you lived apart from us," Valentine continued. He leaned back into his chair. "The other Jonathan, I raised him as my own child. He believes he is my son. As I've already told you, there are many lies spread by the Clave about the Uprising and the Circle that I led. But even before the Uprising, the Council was surreptitiously taking steps to weaken our group. I had a lieutenant, my right hand and trusted friend. He was murdered by the Council. Hunted down and slaughtered in an effort to impair my plans. I will admit they succeeded at that … but they only delayed its eventual conclusion. Now, with you and Jonathan at my side," Valentine smiled, "we cannot be stopped."

"I digress," Valentine noted as Clary sat still in her seat. "My lieutenant, his name was Stephen. Stephen Herondale. He was truly a prodigious example of the Nephilim. His wife was about to give birth any day when we learned Stephen was killed. She did not have the will to live after he died. She was able to bare their son but she passed immediately after. I promised to care for the orphan as my own. She begged me to keep him hidden from the Clave. She was convinced they would exact some harsh fate on the child of the man they unlawfully executed. I could not refuse. It was the least I could do for the poor child and for Stephen, a loyal and faithful soldier who stayed true to our cause to the very end." Valentine shook his head sorrowfully. "It was after the doomed uprising that I assumed the identity of another shadowhunter, Michael Wayland, who had perished with his young son. They were killed by a pack of werewolves roaming wild with bloodlust. We lived hidden away in the Wayland Manor, this very manor where _we_ now reside. The child and I lived here for a decade until I learned your mother still lived, that she had fled to America. I could not take him with your brother and me as we searched for her. He did not know that he was not my son by birth. He did not even know of your brother. I had to keep him ignorant for his own safety. So, I faked my death as Michael Wayland. The Lightwoods head the Clave's New York Institute and Robert Lightwood was parabatai to Michael. I knew they would take in Michael Wayland's desolute child. He would be safe there, away from Idris, secure in the belief that he was Michael Wayland's offspring. His name is Jonathan. He is the "other" Jonathan. He will lead us to the cup." Valentine's black eyes drew in. They seemed to drift into the past. There was a tenderness in his face that Clary only witnessed when he sat with her mother. He cared for this other Jonathan.

"How will we approach him father?" asked Clary. She could feel Jonathan stir behind her.

"Your brother will take the guise of Sebastian Verlac, a shadowhunter from the Paris Institute. We have made the necessary arrangements so that they are expecting his visit at the NY Institute. You will join him as a friend that Sebastian met during an earlier excursion at the Miami Institute. You've formed a close bond and plan to become parabatai." Valentine had his elbows on his desk, his fingers steepled before him, "They will not question your unexpected arrival if you two are working towards forming a parabatai. I have it on good information that the Lightwoods are not acquainted with the Wingspears who head the Miami Institute and it is large enough that an unknown shadowhunter could believably emerge from its premises. You will befriend the other Jonathan. Make him trust you. Find out if he knows anything about the mortal cup. Somehow he will lead us to it," Valentine finished.

He looked coolly down at Clary. Then his eyes shifted up and took on a severe aspect as he stared at her brother. "I do not want him harmed. He has his own gifts and he will join us … eventually. He is practically your brother, an adopted brother."

"Father, may I speak," she finally voiced.

"Yes." His cold expression told her he would not brook any argument.

"I'm concerned, "Clary began. "I've never been to Miami. I've never actually squared off with a demon. I mean, I'm fairly expert at practicing in the training room but I don't think it's the same thing and most importantly I don't know how to pretend to be someone I'm not." She was afraid her voice sounded plaintive.

Valentine's smile made his face even colder. "You will be properly trained. I will not allow your inexperience to ruin our plans. You and Jonathan will first travel to Miami. Stay there for a month. Let's call it a demon hunting expedition. You two will learn to fight side by side. I myself will make sure you can play the role required of you. It is an exacting science in its own way. The key is to make yourself believe the lies. I have no doubt you will excel at this, just as you have proven your abilities in so many other ways." Valentine's eyes narrowed until they were black slits. Clary felt a chill run up and down her body and then felt a firm warm hand at the base of her neck. She turned her face up to see her brother. His eyes seemed consumed by a black fire. There was something seething in his thoughts that she felt sure he kept concealed from their father. She watched as his eyes turned vacant, his face completely expressionless as he lifted his head at this Valentine.

"Very well, father," murmured Jonathan obediently.

Clary cringed at the idea of spending more time under Valentine's tutelage but felt an eager tingle anticipating a true battle against demons, fulfilling her place as a legitimate Nephilim … and meeting other shadowhunters her own age.


	7. Chapter 7 Brooklyn Calling

**Hello! I would have posted yesterday but forgot to bring my laptop home. Argh! Not sure I can keep up with daily updates but getting to some good stuff now - at least I'm really enjoying writing it. Hope you enjoy reading it.**

 **Disclaimer: Cassandra Clare owns TMI and all of the wonderful characters.**

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"Jace," Alec was leaning against a bare white wall, his voice clearly exasperated. "Can we leave now? We promised Mom not to meddle around."

"Did you promise that?" Jace asked mildly. He was crouched down, examining a seemingly innocuous dent in the wall on the other side of the room. "I don't remember promising anything myself. Would be a real shame to lose your company." Jace turned to face Alec with a lopsided smirk on his face. "You never know what kind of trouble I could get into without you to watch out for me."

Alec sighed heavily, "Listen, Jace. We've been back at this apartment five times already. How many times do you have to look at an empty room to get the picture? There's nothing here."

"Really?" Jace was now staring up at the ceiling. "I didn't think you'd mind an occasional trip to Brooklyn. It's one of the finest outer boroughs of New York City and I got the impression you were really finding a lot to appreciate about the place."

"Shut up," Alec folded his arms but grinned good-naturedly. "I'm going to be late meeting up with Magnus." Only Izzy and Jace knew about him and Magnus and that suited Alec just fine. He could only imagine his parents' horror when they found out their oldest son was gay _and_ dating a warlock. At first Alec was terrified of Jace's reaction. He had harbored a crush on Jace for a while but somehow Jace had just guessed that Alec was seeing Magnus. Well, it might have something to do with all the glitter that started to appear on his clothes, his hair, random body parts. It had been the most natural thing in the world. Jace was his parabatai and now that he had Magnus he could clearly see that he had never been in love with Jace. Jace was family, the best kind of family. Someone who loved and accepted him wholeheartedly. Alec was not so certain he could say the same about his parents and he felt a twinge of guilt that he was actually glad his mother and father had gotten tied up in Idris.

"Anyway, Maryse hardly knew she wouldn't be returning anytime soon," Jace broke into Alec's thoughts. He was now walking around the room, his head darting back and forth as if there was something to see.

Hodge had received word from Idris. It seemed the Council did not put much credence behind the words of a warlock. But, the Clave was worried. It would soon be time for the Accords to be renewed and while they did not accept Valentine Morgenstern was a living threat they believed there were still active members of the destructive Circle who would try to destroy the Shadowhunters' peace treaty with Downworlders. Although Maryse and Robert had been punished and ostensibly forgiven for their participation in the Circle, they were not fully trusted and the Council would not allow them to return to New York until the Accords were peacefully accomplished. They were kept under strict surveillance with the excuse that as former members of the Circle, their knowledge of any missing and unaccounted for deviant shadowhunters was invaluable to the Council.

"Go on, then," Jace returned Alec's smile. "Tell Magnus I said hi."

"Are you sure?" Alec asked sincerely.

"I think I can find my way back home," Jace drawled.

"Jace, what do you think you'll find? Why are you so … preoccupied with this?" Alec worried. "I mean, yeah, they're shadowhunters but we both know shadowhunters die, all the time, and it's not like we knew them or even like the Council cares …"

"Yeah, I know," Jace dismissed. "I just can't get them out of my head. I just feel like this," Jace waved his arms up, "is huge. I can't shake it. I know it means something." He shook his head. "But you're right. I'm not getting anywhere wandering around an empty apartment. I'll leave in a few minutes. I promise. I'll see you back at the Institute."

"OK, Jace," Alec replied. "Promise me, no demon hunting without me."

Jace rolled his eyes, "Yes, Dad. I promise. Go on, get outta here."

Alec looked worried but hurried off, eager to see Magnus. Jace was happy for him. Alec seemed so much more comfortable in his own skin since he met Magnus and Alec deserved to be happy.

Jace took another turn through the apartment. He walked into a small room with a window facing the tree lined street below. It was a quiet block. It had begun to rain a bit and the black asphalt shined with the reflection of the streetlights. Every now and then a car would pass, spraying up the puddled water at the corners. He'd been haunted by a recurring dream lately. There was a girl. Even through the dream's opaqueness, her hair was a bright red. She was waiting for him. He walked over to her. Her shining green eyes reminded him of the dewy morning fields surrounding the estate from his childhood home in Idris.

"Where have you been?" she whispered. She held out a hand and he took it into his own. Her hand was small, warm and strong. It felt … perfect.

"I'm here. I've always been here," he answered.

She quivered. "It's too late. I'm sorry." She reached up on her toes, she was very small, and kissed him gently on the cheek.

And then he woke up.

Jace wasn't sure why the dream bubbled up in his thoughts now but somehow he could clearly imagine her red head below his, peering through this very window, seeing the world as he saw it.

He realized he had remained in the apartment longer than he had planned. He was about to turn away from the window when he recognized an Eidolon demon standing across the street, waiting for someone or something as it moved its head back and forth viewing one end of the block to the other. It had taken on a human form, a non-descript middle aged man, brown hair, black trench coat, wire frames. Jace stepped away from the window and pulled a seraph blade from his belt. He knew the runes he and Alec had drawn on before they left the Institute were still good. He could feel their strength and energy course through his veins. Not that he needed them to take care of an Eidolon demon but it was an ingrained habit to check his weapons, runes, gear. He had promised Alec no demon hunting without him but really what could he do? The thing was practically on top of him. It was hardly as if he were actually hunting demons when they just appeared in front of him. Jace welcomed the surge of adrenaline as he rushed down the stairs. His hand was on the knob to the building's front door when the door to the lower apartment in the brownstone building cracked open and an old woman peered out of its entrance. She wore a yellow and orange tropically themed turban and matching caftan along with a pair of large gold and blue beaded hoop earrings. He knew she was Madam Dorothea, Seer and Prophetess, as advertised by a placard in her front window. He had already checked her out; completely human, dabbled a bit with the magical and arcane within her limited abilities. No threat and nothing of interest for him to investigate. He was about to turn away and get back to some demon slaying when the old woman called out.

"Jace Wayland. I know what you are. You're searching for them," she glanced up to indicate the last occupants of the apartment above her head. "There's someone you should meet. He's searching for them too … Damn near frantic about it," she harrumphed.

"You can see me," he said with surprise, "and how do you know my name?"

"I'm an old lady. I've been around," she cackled. "Come by tomorrow. I need to get my beauty rest now. But first, take care of that garbage out there." She shut the door.

* * *

Jace swung open the heavy front door and leapt out onto the darkened street. He landed only a few feet away from the demon but plenty close enough to reach it with his seraph blade.

"Jehoel," he sang out and the sudden burst of light seemed to blind the demon.

It backed up quickly and hissed, its disguise dissolving as its true form revealed itself. It was tall and charcoal black, sharpened horns at the top of its head, long talons protruding out of its stick like fingers, rectangular pupils in its eyes and goat-like legs, complete with hooves loudly clapping on the sidewalk.

"Nephilim," it bellowed, "I've been waiting for your kind." It smiled showing off a wide set of sharp little knives for teeth.

Jace was a blur of motion as he whirled forward and jammed the blade deep into its chest then pulled it out. The Eidolon evidently had not expected his bewildering speed. The stunned expression on its face was vaguely amusing as the demon buckled into itself then blinked out of the world.

"Well, that was just stupid," Jace muttered to himself. "I should have questioned it first but that one was just asking for it, cocky bastard." Jace felt the swish of air behind him before he heard a sound and immediately threw himself forward landing in a tumble, facing the opposite direction.

A trio of Golumon demons slithered before him. This would explain the Eidolon's cockiness, thought Jace. They were notoriously difficult to kill. Their fluid, slime covered bodies were poisonous and would quickly paralyze its victim at the slightest contact. They were also extremely rare. Jace had never seen one in person before, only ever reading about the Golumon in one of the ancient archives. At least his studies taught him where to strike. Izzy and Alec would have to appreciate his dedication to the old texts now, he thought gloatingly. That is, if I survive this, he amended flippantly. A small spot at the center of its disgustingly gelatinous head served as its "brain" and that was where he had to strike. He unerringly threw the seraph blade, slightly weighed down with the Eidolon's black ichor, at the monster in the middle while back-flipping to keep them at a distance. The beast roared a thick sludgy sound, collapsed, then disappeared in a fog of thick gray smoke. The remaining Golumon demons spread apart oozing a brackish brown trail. Tentacles emerged from their bulbous trembling bodies. Unlike the rest of its sluggish form, the tentacles whipped out in swift, long strides. The poison seemed to be concentrated in these feelers as they left sizzling black marks on anything they touched. Jace pulled out two daggers. He was barely visible as he vaulted all around the Golumon, away from their darting limbs. The daggers flew out at the beasts while Jace was spinning. One found its target and the demon disintegrated like the first. The other dagger connected thickly with an outstretched tentacle blocking the path to its intended point. Jace halted his dizzying shadowhunter gymnastics already reaching for another throwing knife when the last Golumon incongruously propelled its shuddering mass up in the air. Now that's something I didn't read in the book, thought Jace, just as a glowing seraph blade shot down from above and landed squarely in the beast's head. The monster impressively shattered into dust while it was still midair.

He held the knife firmly in his grip as he quickly surveyed his surroundings.

"Hiya," called out a jaunty voice from above. Then a flash of red and black suddenly jumped down from a streetlight over two stories tall. She shook her hair. Long, wild, flame colored curls spanned out on her shoulders. She stood up from her crouched pose on the ground, one hand expertly holding out a shortsword.

"Damn, broke my hair tie," she huffed. She stood straight and slid the sword smoothly into a scabbard hooked onto her belt. She was small, just skimming five feet but she was not a child. Her movements flowed like silk and she had the hard, lean muscles of a well-trained shadowhunter. The black leather gear fit snugly against her body.

In an evening of surprises, she was the biggest shock of all.

Her emerald green eyes took him in clinically. "You look OK. Did you get stung?" she asked.


	8. Chapter 8 When Jace Met Clary

"I … I'm good," Jace answered dragging his eyes from her face. It was her, the girl from his dream.

"Well, that's a relief. Really hate to lose a seraph blade _and_ break a hair tie without a proper pat on the back for saving the day," she smiled at him. "Although," she paused, "I'm getting the distinct impression I'll just be giving myself that pat."

Jace looked down at her again and a chuckle escaped his lips, somehow merging with the surprise on his face.

She moved closer to him and he felt his breathing hitch. Leaning in and bouncing up on her toes she pushed his mouth closed with two fingers under his chin.

"Wouldn't want you catching any flies in that pretty mouth of yours," she grinned.

"So, have we met before?" Jace realized that sounded dumb as soon as he said it but there was no taking it back. He relaxed, noticing he was still holding the throwing knife and slipped it back into his weapons belt.

"Oh, I don't think so," she replied smoothly. "I'm fairly certain I wouldn't forget _you_. I'm Seraphina Fairborn," she held out a hand.

He took it slowly almost fearful that it would fall short of the bond he felt in the dream. It felt even better. An electric current charged up his arm. "Jace Wayland."

"Jace … hmmmm," she deliberated, "I like it. What are you doing here?" she asked curiously. She turned to face the brownstone Jace had just left.

"I'm investigating," he answered, "a disappearance … Shadowhunters."

"Really," she said slowly. "Sounds … interesting."

"So, what are _you_ doing here?" he questioned and realized he still held her hand. He knew he should let go but he didn't want to and she didn't seem to mind.

"Oh, I'm just visiting the Manhattan Institute and I thought I'd take a grand tour of New York City when I picked up a reading," she pointed at a sensor secured against her chest. "It was off the hook," she whistled. "How'd a nice guy like you pick up three hellraisers like that?" She subtly pulled her hand back to gather and twist her hair back from her face.

"Demons don't find me so nice," he answered steadily. "I don't know where they came from." He lifted his own hand to the back of his neck. "Gotta figure it's connected to the disappearance," he mused. "Wait a minute. How long were you watching me fight off those Golumon?"

"Not long." Her green eyes sparkled playfully. "I was enjoying the show for a minute or two there. You may be faster than lightning," she noted appreciatively.

"I could have died," Jace stared at her wonderingly.

"No, you wouldn't. I would _not_ have let that happen," she replied confidently.

They stood there eyeing each other silently until a slow grin emerged on Jace's face. "You know, I think we're going to get along fabulously."

"Hey," he continued, "I live at the New York Institute. Allow me to escort you, my fair lady," he said with a flourish and pulled out his elbow beckoning her touch.

"Very gallant, good sir," she giggled. "I would be delighted."

* * *

Getting back to the Manhattan Institute had been a blast. Being a shadowhunter with Jace was amazingly fun. They had raced around the city rooftops, daring each other to impossible leaps and bounds with the ever burning skyscraper lights as their backdrop. They dashed along the waterfront iron railings up the West Side, lay back on the grassy knolls of Central Park gazing up at the clear night skies with the occasional sprites and pixies prancing around them and vaulted up on top of the MTA transit buses that operated all night and day, enjoying the moving view as they rode through the still busy streets. At some point they joined hands again as they ran together shrieking like little children. A full moon was out, high in the sky, by the time they got to the Institute.

"We haven't really had a chance to talk," Jace panted lightly, catching his breath. "I don't know anything about you." His eyes were bright and feverish, a smile still splayed on his lips.

"Oh, what's there to know," she said blithely, "I'm just your ordinary shadowhunter gal, passing by, shooting the breeze with the resident shadowhunter hunk," she winked.

Jace's face fell a bit at this response and eased into a knowing smirk. "Is that all I am? A pretty face? Be still my beating heart. You wound me, Sera."

She grabbed him then and hugged him tightly around the waist. "Thank you, Jace. It's been so long since I've just been happy and free. You don't know what it means to me." She moved her hands up his shoulders to stretch up and smother his face with wet kisses.

"Stop that, you crazy thing," he laughed but kept his own arms tight around her tiny waist, lifting her up to his chest. He breathed in the floral scent of her hair, musky from the exhaust fumes on the city streets, salty air of the Hudson River and sweet grass from the lawns in Central Park. He couldn't imagine anything smelling better.

She pulled back then and he could feel her closing off from him while her smile remained congenial. Her eyes drifted behind him, "Sebastian, there you are! You must meet Jace. He's wonderful."

Jace turned slowly, gently lowering Sera back down to the ground but kept one arm loosely around her waist. Sebastian appeared to be about his own age and height, black hair, black eyes set against a ghostly white face. They had a similar build although Jace was slightly more filled out but Sebastian had an undeniably formidable look about him.

Sebastian nodded, an amiable smile appeared on his face. "Hi, Jace. I'm Sebastian Verlac. Isabelle's been telling me all about you."

"And Alec too!" squealed Izzy as she walked up behind him. She noticed Sera then, standing next to Jace, their arms still entwined around each other. "You must be Seraphina. I see you've already met Jace, of course," Izzy's voice lowered to a normal tone.

Sera moved away from Jace, walking over to Izzy to introduce herself.

Jace kept his eyes on Sebastian who watched Jace just as intently.

"You were expecting me, right?" asked Sebastian. "My aunt Elodie sent word I'd be making this trip to New York."

"Yeah, I remember Hodge mentioning it," Jace returned. "So you and Sera came together? I don't think Hodge said anything about her."

"That was unexpected," Sebastian agreed. "We met while I was at the Miami Institute. Really lovely place. But too much sun. It's no good for my fair complexion. We're thinking about becoming parabatai, me and Seraphina. Although sometimes, I'm not sure it would work," he continued in a low and confidential voice. Sebastian advanced toward Jace, stopping only a foot away from him. "Seraphina and I are complete together. We'd make the perfect parabatai but," he whispered, "it wouldn't be right." He finished, his look challenging Jace to question why not.

Jace shrugged, "Well, good luck with that." He was about to leave and head into his own chambers when he spun around, "Hey, how long are you guys staying?"

"I'm not sure," Sebastian answered. "Didn't really set a timetable. Anxious to get rid of us, already?" he simpered.

"Not at all," Jace responded with his own award winning simper. "Sera expressed some interest in an investigation I'm working on. I thought she might want to help me with it."

Sera seemed to catch this part of the conversation as she joined them.

"I'd like that, Jace. Thanks for thinking of it," she said excitedly. "There's something I've been working on that I think you'll find interesting too. Maybe we can try it tomorrow?" She casually gave Jace a quick hug and peck on the cheek. "Good night."

Jace watched her leave as Sebastian slung a proprietary arm around her shoulder and walked with her to the vistors' annex.

"She's very pretty," Izzy interrupted a bit sullenly, "and so small."

"Beautiful," Jace breathed unthinkingly.

"I don't know if I should do a jig or keel over," Izzy looked over at him incredulously.

"What are you talking about?" he asked, a sulky frown on his face.

"You know what I'm talking about. I never thought I'd say this to you, but you've got it bad and it ain't good," she smirked.

"You are out of your mind. I've got to hit the sack," Jace's hand shot out and mussed up her hair the way he knew she hated, then darted away to his room.


	9. Chapter 9 To Love Is To Destroy

**Thanks to those who have reviewed, fav'd and followed. Motivates me to keep writing.**

 **Disclaimer: Cassandra Clare - She owns it. Love her writing.**

* * *

Clary and Jace sat companionably on a blue and white checkered blanket that seemed to mirror the clear blue sky and the fluffy white clouds above their heads. They were back at Central Park, in a glamour warded area safe from mundane intrusions, and digging into the takeout that Jace had picked up from Taki's. They were both dressed casually in shirts and jeans but were well equipped with at least six or eight blades, daggers and knives hidden in the various pockets, sheaths and belts in their loose jackets and fastened along their bodies. Clary was decked in different shades of blue. A royal blue blouse lit the brilliant red curls that she had pinned neatly to the sides of her head, letting them cascade down her back and turned her eyes a glassy sea-green. Her jeans were a well-worn faded blue. Jace paired black jeans with a long sleeved white t-shirt. Clary could see the muted imprint of the permanent runes on his chest and neck through the shirt and thought they made him even more hopelessly beautiful.

It was a lovely, crisp spring day and Jace suggested they get something to eat outdoors. Jonathan had already made plans to visit some Downworlder hubs with Izzy, get to know the relevant shadowhunter places in the city, and they both knew it was her mission to draw in Jace. Although Jonathan was strangely reluctant to leave her alone with him, repeatedly asking her if she wanted him to come along or perhaps they could all trek through the city together?

"Relax," Clary had told him rubbing the side of his bicep. It was then that Clary realized how tense Jonathan really was when the muscles on his arm remained stiff.

"I don't trust him," Jonathan said, a deep scowl on his face. "He can't wait to get his hands on you."

Clary had laughed, "Don't be ridiculous, Sebastian." They had both agreed to only address each other with their fabricated names while they stayed at the New York Institute. "Jace doesn't see me that way," Clary added. She didn't mention that she wished he did, that since the moment they met she felt like herself again, that it hurt to lie to him. Clary wanted to tell Jace the truth. But this was the only way to keep him safe, wasn't it? If everyone knew who he really was, who knew what the Clave would do to him? Clary wondered why they couldn't just tell _him_ the truth but Valentine had been very clear that she was not to say a word to him about it and no matter what she thought or felt about Valentine she knew he cared for Jace and wanted to protect him.

"So are you ready for some dessert?" Jace asked, his golden eyes opened wide, his smile completely infectious.

"Bring it," she whooped opening her hands.

Jace brought out a small cardboard box tied with a pink ribbon and pulled out two vanilla cupcakes with ivory colored icing decorated with red candy hearts.

"Oooooh," Clary gushed, "looks good. Seb won't let me have sweets too often. Says it's counter-productive to training," she imitated in a stern voice.

"I don't know how you put up with him," Jace grimaced. He placed one cupcake delicately in her outstretched hand and tucked into his own.

"He's not so bad," Clary defended. "He's an amazing fighter. I've seen him take on five Raveners and a pair of Denizens on his own."

"Yeah, yeah, he's awesome," Jace muttered, "But he couldn't possibly be better than me, could he?" Jace lifted an eyebrow questioningly.

"Well, I wouldn't know," Clary conceded. "You're both incredibly marvelous he-men." She laughed again. It was easy to laugh around Jace. She finished her cupcake and looked up at Jace who watched her mirthfully.

"You've got icing all over your face," he pointed out.

"Well, give me a napkin." She leaned over to where he sat.

"What, and waste all that delectable buttercream frosting?" he asked her with mock horror.

"What do you suggest? Should I just leave it on my face all day?" she screwed up her nose.

"Come here, I've got this," he said readily, pulling her close and proceeded to lick her scrupulously around her face.

"Jace, this is gross," she said eyeing his pink tongue as it skimmed the corner of her mouth.

"I think it's delicious," Jace replied, his golden eyes hooded by the long sweep of his caramel lashes.

"Do you do this kind of thing with all the girls?" Clary gulped. She was worried she might start hyperventilating and decided the best way to handle the situation was to try her best to pretend this was perfectly normal behavior between two people who had just met a day ago. "Well, thanks for that," she said airily, "now I really need to wash my face."

Jace looked at her like he hadn't heard a thing she said.

Their faces were inches away and she could see her own molten gold reflection in his bronze flecked eyes. Clary was fairly certain Pygmalion could not have carved a more perfect creature, his face a contour of sharp planes and edges. His skin seemed to glow, absorbing the rays of the sun. She lowered her eyes in an attempt to control the spiraling sensation in her head and realized her error when her gaze dropped down to his mouth. A slight chip on one of his incisors may have been the only flaw on his face but it only made him more real and more irresistible to her.

Oh screw it, thought Clary. I may never have a chance like this again. She closed her eyes and fell on his lips. She thought it might help clear her mind but of course it did exactly the opposite. What had started as a soft graze quickly escalated into a heated embrace, their lips parting, hungrily devouring each other. She gasped as she felt his tongue brush her teeth and then collide with her own tongue. He tasted like sweet vanilla and smelled like lemons and sunshine. Somehow she found herself lying back, her head resting on his forearm, his elbows leaning against the blanket holding the weight of his body off hers. She couldn't get close enough to him. Her hands ran through the silken threads of his golden hair and then moved down to slide below his shirt. His body tensed and he moaned into her mouth. Her fingers felt the faint traces of innumerable runes as she alternately grasped then glided her hands along his firm toned back.

The sound of a quick gasp brought Clary crashing back down to reality and she immediately unlocked her lips from his to look towards the source of the sound. Izzy stood at the edge of the clearing a few yards away and Jonathan reached her just as Clary rolled out from under Jace. She sat up on her knees and attempted a welcoming smile, knowing full well her hair was likely a wild mess and there would be no way to hide her bruised lips. Still, she would try to play it off like nothing happened. She knew Jonathan would not be pleased but she was not prepared for the blank fury in his eyes when she calmly faced him.

"Hi guys," she managed a bit weakly, "What are you doing here?" She pulled down at her blouse and patted the back of her hair.

Izzy lowered her hand from her mouth uncovering a small grin. "Sebastian wanted to catch up with you two. He's like a momma bear, couldn't stop worrying about you." She turned to Jonathan, "See, they're fine. Jace wouldn't let anything happen to her. I told you we should just leave them alone."

Clary swung around to see how Jace was faring. He was still draped on top of the blanket positioned above it as if she were still under him. His face lifted up at the three of them, his expression slightly dazed. Looking at his tousled hair, throbbing and plump pink lips and his shirt halfway up his torso, she stifled an internal groan. He slowly propped himself up and lazily unrolled his shirt back down to his waist. Clary thought she detected some frustration when he glanced at her but it seemed to clear off his face as he stretched out his legs in front of him and leaned back on his arms held out behind him.

"Seraphina," Jonathan said coldly, "Come with me. We should get back to the Institute. I need to talk with you." He held out a hand summoning her.

Clary momentarily sat back to stand up when she felt Jace's hand around her arm.

"You don't have to go," Jace spoke longingly. "I thought there was something you were going to show me. I thought we'd spend the day together."

"There's plenty of time, Jace," she smiled at him, immeasurably touched that he wanted her to stay with him. She worried she cared too much.

"Is there?" he asked, his voice falling.

"Seraphina, I'm waiting." Jonathan stood tall, glowering at them both.

Clary gently brushed some wayward locks off Jace's face, "Of course there is," she answered softly then got up and walked to Jonathan.

* * *

"What do you think you're doing?" hissed Jonathan. They were back at the Institute. He had practically dragged her into her assigned quarters and turned on her as soon as he shut the door.

"What I'm supposed to be doing. Or did you forget, I'm supposed to get him to like me, trust me," she answered petulantly. She did not like the way Jonathan was acting. It reminded her too much of Valentine. She wished Jonathan would go back to his usual self, comforting, supportive and protective. She had always felt safe in his presence before. That seemed to have changed since they met Jace.

"Your assignment was to find the mortal cup," Jonathan jeered. "Did you think you'd find it down his throat or maybe down his pants?" Jonathan looked ill. Clary thought this may be the first time she did not find him beautiful.

"How dare you," she answered contemptibly. "We just met. I like him. A lot. But I would never, I mean I'm a virgin, I wouldn't just sleep with someone I didn't love."

Jonathan swallowed and visibly settled down. "OK. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that." He walked over and placed his hands firmly on each of her arms. "I care about you. I'm worried about you. I told you he's a player. He'll break your heart."

"No, he won't," Clary responded dully. "To love is to destroy and to be loved is to be destroyed. Isn't that right, brother? I can't afford to love anyone else."

Jonathan hugged her then and bent his head low to whisper in her ear, "You can love me. We couldn't hurt each other. You and I are one."

Clary pushed him away, "Jonathan, get out. I want to be alone." She was sick of him. Sick of pretending to be someone else and sick of the strange stomach churning way he made her feel when he spoke of their connection.

"Do not call me that," Jonathan said in a low and resentful voice. "Don't ever let yourself slip like that. I'm Sebastian. Only Sebastian, here."

He walked away then and left the room.

Clary dropped down onto the bed. It was much more comfortable then her hard mattress in Idris. She felt like she was on a crazy emotional rollercoaster. One moment flying so fast and high, feeling so much heart pounding joy with Jace, and then the next moment falling forcefully to the ground, knowing it was all a lie. At least when she was just with Valentine and Jonathan she didn't know you could be a shadowhunter and intoxicatingly happy.

There was some loose note paper by a writing desk. She sat down and started to sketch. It had been a long time since she had the luxury and it was nice to just let herself get lost in her pictures.

A knock at her door brought her head up. It was late judging by the dimmed light and shadows filtering through the window. She hoped it wasn't Jonathan and she knew she wasn't ready to see Jace again. She wondered who it would be as she haltingly walked to the door and opened it.

This must be Alec, she thought, looking up at another tall shadowhunter with black hair and elegant features like Izzy but midnight blue eyes.

"Hi, I thought I'd meet the visitors," Alec smiled shyly. "I'm Alec. Izzy told me where you and your parabatai-to-be were staying."

"It's nice to meet you, Alec," Clary smiled back at him.

"I'm sorry we haven't met earlier," he apologized. "I've been sort of busy … personal stuff."

"Oh, am I sensing a significant other?" Clary nudged. "Don't worry, I'm not the prying sort," she continued when she saw an alarmed look in Alec's eyes. "I'm easy to talk to, if you want to that is," she concluded.

Alec looked at her warily. "Well, OK. Thanks." He was about to turn away when a thought occurred to him, "Hey, Seraphina, would you like a tour of the Institute? It doesn't seem like you've gotten a good look around the place yet."

"Sure, Alec. That sounds nice." Clary left her room, shut the door and took Alec's arm as they walked down the hallway. Taking a sideways glance at Alec, she noticed the way his dark hair fell over his eyes and the slight slouch in his movements. She felt a sorrowful pang in her gut. She missed Simon.


	10. Chapter 10 Upside Down

Clary sat by herself in the greenhouse atrium housed atop the Manhattan Institute. It was stunning here and so peaceful. The greenery transported her back to the grounds around the Manor house in Idris. Since she had joined Valentine and Jonathan, she had only ever felt truly tranquil when she walked around the gardens, enjoying its natural beauty. The night sky above her shined with dotted stars. She imagined what life would be like living at this Institute, having the large cathedral to explore and this greenhouse to come up to when she needed time by herself. She had been enchanted as soon as Alec brought her up here but he was not so comfortable. He started sneezing shortly after introducing her to the atrium and begged off the rest of the tour unless she was willing to retreat from the greenhouse. She told him she would be fine by herself and now wished she had brought some paper and a pencil to draw some of the plants flush with life surrounding her.

Alec was parabatai with Jace. At first she thought them an odd pairing but later recognized that they suited each other. Alec's quiet solicitude matched Jace's overpowering heroics. She could tell they loved each other from the way they spoke about one another. Another sharp pang hit her. She knew she did not have this deep intrinsic understanding with Jonathan. She also knew who did match her this way. Simon. Where was he? Was he OK? Was he looking for her? She knew if their roles were reversed she could not stop looking for him and was overwhelmed by the need to see him and make sure he was alright.

She heard the entrance to the greenhouse open and the sound of footsteps making its way up the rounded steel staircase that would lead directly to where she sat next to a lustrous white flower that seemed to pulse in its tight bud. She thought about skipping away before the intruder could discover her but she was too late. She turned her eyes up and was confronted by a pair of gold eyes, darkened to an amber shade at this late hour. Jace. He looked surprised to see her there. She hoped she was not an unwelcome sight.

"Jace" she said in a hushed voice and stretched her hand out hoping for his touch but fearing he might reject her, she shut her eyes. She opened them and breathed out in relief when she felt his strong hand clasp her own. "I'm sorry about before," she whispered. "I didn't want to leave. You have to know that."

"I didn't. But I'm glad you told me," he said with an uncertain smile on his face. He had knelt down before her and she could peer deep into his eyes. She had heard eyes are the windows to your soul and if that was true she knew Jace had the truest, purest, most authentic soul in the world. She drew in a sharp breath and at that moment she knew she loved him. She lifted her other hand and caressed his cheek. "Jace, if I never get a chance to say this, I'll regret it forever," she swallowed hard and forced the words out of her mouth, "I know we only just met, but I can't help feeling like I was meant to know you. You've made me so glad to be alive. I would love you to eternity if I could."

Jace looked completely astounded but at least he didn't pull back. He only gripped her hand tighter and his plush lips fell open.

"Don't say anything," Clary continued as she saw him floundering. "I don't need to hear you say it back to me. I just want you to know how I feel." She got up then, bent down and gave him a kiss on the top of his head. She was ready to leave now. She could go back to Valentine, face him and tell him she failed her mission. She tried to pull away but Jace held onto her hand tightly.

"Sera, I don't know how to be …," he seemed confounded, unable to explain himself.

"Jace, don't call me that. Don't call me Sera," she answered, "I'm Clary. Please don't ask me what that means." She wanted to run away then before he asked anymore questions. Telling Jace the truth of her heart had eased the terrible war inside her but she knew she could not stay, not without endangering them all to Valentine's wrath … but he wouldn't let her go.

Jace opened and closed his mouth, struggling to find a way to voice his questions and comply with her request. Clary grew more confused with each passing moment. By this time, Jace had not only clamped her hand with his but also locked her to him, his other arm an inescapable vise around her waist. She should not have told him her name. She knew Jonathan would lose his mind let alone Valentine.

"Clary … I like it. It suits you better than Seraphina," he finally spoke.

"Jace, I have to go. I can't stay here anymore," she looked at him, her eyes glistening with tears.

"What do you mean? The atrium? We can go downstairs," he answered. A line formed between his eyebrows. He looked totally confused but otherwise seemed enveloped by an aura of complete contentment.

"No, Jace. I can't be here anymore. It's not safe for you. Jo… They won't let us be together and I can't lie to you. It's tearing me apart," she struggled to get out of his arms, beating his shoulders with her fists.

"You want to … leave me?" he asked in utter shock. "You just said you loved me … I can't let you go." He looked at her fervently, worshipping her. "I'll protect you. I don't care about anything but you." Jace stood up but he didn't loosen his hold on her. If anything, he held tighter. "You've turned everything upside down. I don't know how it happened. I know it makes no sense but my soul belonged to you the second I saw you." He crushed her body so closely against his they were practically inhabiting the same space. One of his hands weaved into her hair, pulled her head back tenderly yet firmly and then kissed her.

All her fears and worries vanished from her thoughts as their lips molded into each other. There was nothing else in the world but him. Her arms automatically moved away from his chest, where she placed them when she had attempted to hold him back, and stretched up around his neck. She was off the floor. He had lifted her against a ledge, their faces now positioned at an even level. She opened her legs and wrapped them around his waist to draw him closer. Their hands were everywhere but it wasn't enough.

Suddenly there was a loud racket as the greenhouse door slammed open below them. They did not break their kiss or release their hold but stopped moving their heaving bodies into each other.

"Jace! Jace! You up there?!"

They both opened their eyes then as Alec's footsteps clanged up the iron stairway. They managed to pull their mouths off each other but were still staring at each other, their noses touching. Clary was barely able to comprehend anything but Jace in her arms when Alec found them.

"Jace! I've been call …" Alec abruptly stopped as he realized Jace was not alone and his body was fully entangled in another set of limbs not his own. Alec looked away but did not turn around and leave. "I'm really sorry guys but there's an emergency. We need to get downtown. The werewolf pack have gone nuts."

The old Clary would definitely be blushing a fire engine red but she had changed since her introduction to the shadowhunter world. In some ways, she was irreversibly transformed. She unwrapped her legs from Jace's waist and peeled herself off him. He had an expression on his face as if it physically hurt him to remove himself from her. That was slightly gratifying but her own body trembled wanting him back on her, his hands and mouth all over her.

I guess Jonathan could see it more clearly than me, she thought. She wanted him in a way she had never even imagined before but she had to get away from him before this went any further. She knew she did not have the strength to resist him when they were alone together.

"Jace, we have to go," Alec still kept his eyes on the floor and evidently did not trust Jace to follow on his own.

Jace lifted Clary down from the ledge, then ran his hands up her shoulders to cup her face, forcing her eyes to meet his. He released her then but reached down to hold her hand. "Let's go, then," he said, leading her down behind him.

* * *

 **You can probably tell I'm a serious Clace fan. I can't help myself.**


	11. Chapter 11 A Werewolf in Chinatown

As much as Clary tried to assume some semblance of normality, it had just been an incredibly awkward time since the troupe of young shadowhunters assembled together to deal with the werewolf problem in Chinatown. First, Alec, Jace and she had separated to get into their gear and load up with the appropriate weapons. Then, when they had all gathered by the archway, Hodge felt it appropriate to explain their duties and warn them from any excess and undue violence toward the Downworlders, especially with the Accords so soon at hand. Hodge spoke in a worn and self-assured manner, lecturing Izzy, Jace and Alec as the three of them drew runes on one another but at Clary's and Jonathan's appearance he did a double take and barely managed to string five words together. Everyone noticed and Jonathan gave him an icy glare before he switched back to ooze ease and charm, thanking Hodge for his attentions and excusing his nervousness as concern on their behalf. Then, when Clary had unzipped the back of her gear, asking if someone could draw the strength and farsightedness runes on her back, Jace and Jonathan practically crashed into one another with their steles out. It would have been comical if they hadn't almost come to blows and Alec had convinced Jace that her parabatai should do it. Jace withdrew but muttered they weren't parabatai yet. Then there had been the matter of making their way downtown. It seemed the New York shadowhunters were accustomed to using the subways for their trips around the city to avoid the constant traffic of the city streets, their glamour runes protecting them from mundane observation. Everything was fine as they rushed to the nearest subway but once they got on the 1 train, the issue of where she would stand or rather who she would stand with became a problem. Both Jace and Jonathan stood at either side of her and seemed consumed with the other's close proximity. She had finally gotten so fed up with the insane level of testosterone and tension in the tight space that she pushed past them both and sat with Izzy.

"You really ought to handle the two of them better," Izzy whispered. "It's getting ridiculous. They're boys. They need to be trained. Otherwise, they'll just run wild."

Clary looked at her disbelievingly and Izzy had just tutted, "Sera, there is _so_ much I need to teach you."

It didn't help that every time she came within a few feet of Jace her heart started racing so loud she could hear a crazy beating in her ears. She felt certain everyone could hear it and found herself looking fiercely around her to confirm this suspicion. Of course that only garnered several odd looks from four sets of eyes that ranged from bafflement (Alec), disapproving pity (Izzy), undisguised and acute longing (Jace) and a frowning scrutiny (Jonathan). She knew she had to keep her distance from Jace. Whatever the werewolves were up to could not possibly be as nutso as she was behaving. She had to keep her wits about her. Valentine had warned her, often, that werewolves were savage animals that should be put down as soon as they were turned. After all, they had brutally torn apart the shadowhunter, Michael Wayland and his son. She could not allow herself to be so distracted when dealing with the feral beasts.

They got off the train at the Canal Street station. Clary rushed up the steps to the streets ahead of the rest, not wanting a recurrence of boys behaving badly as Izzy so eloquently put it. The abandoned police station that headquartered the New York pack was only a few blocks east. She decided to race ahead and wait for the others there. She needed to stay away from Jace if she was going to operate with a clear head and she didn't want Jonathan hanging over her either. She heard someone call out to her just before she put her head down and sprinted to the station. They would be together soon enough she figured.

It no longer surprised her how quickly she reached their destination. Unfortunately, the accelerated shadowhunter speed was not sustainable for long but it was an exhilarating run.

The double vision of a glamour assailed her vision when she looked up at the rundown station. The mundane view was a Chinese takeout joint, no seats or tables, delivery orders only. She had to squint a little to see the aged stone surrounding the entrance of the former 3rd Precinct of the Lower East Side Police Station. She stood back across the street deep in the shadows under the canopy of a Chinatown hair salon, long closed for the day, its metal security railings down and tagged with graffiti. The heavy station door swung open and a young werewolf galloped out. It was the last night of a full moon in the current lunar cycle and Clary sensed this particular werewolf was newly turned, couldn't have been more than a few months judging from the frantic roll of its bright blue eyes and its convulsing lycanthropic form. Clary pulled out a seraph blade and held it steadily against her thigh.

The wolf suddenly stopped shaking, lifted its snout and dragged in long mouthfuls of air. It froze and turned its head to face her directly. There was no mistaking it. The animal had spotted her. For a brief second, Clary wondered why the others hadn't arrived yet. She was fast but so were they. At the very least she knew Jonathan and Jace could best her pace. Belatedly, she realized something must have happened to them that waylaid their arrival. She would have to handle this matter herself.

"Kushiel," she hummed and a white beam flashed out of the blade. She spread her feet apart, the handle of the seraph in both hands, ready to swing into action when the beast came for her.

The glow of the seraph lit up the shadows and illuminated her face in a lambent light. The werewolf stumbled back, its jaws gaping open, a long tongue rolling out and its eyes almost doubling in size. Clary could only describe its reaction as stupefied amazement. She had been told werewolves were vicious with the barest traces of their humanity. There was no hiding the seraph blade. The animal must see the threat she posed but it looked at her ardently with some unaccountable but undeniably very human emotion. She stood still, puzzling over this animal that cautiously pawed its way toward her.

It seemed to struggle with itself as it bobbed its head in a peculiar rolling motion. Its face altered, still lupine but the snout had perceptibly shrunk back. "Clllaarrrrrreeeee," it rasped out.

Clary stood straight, the seraph blade dangling at her side, wondering if she were awake or dreaming. She stepped back until the jangling sound of the security gate arrested her. The animal was only a few steps away from her when a flurry of motion fell down on them and Jonathan kicked out at it, sending the wolf skidding with a pained howl.

The blaze in his eyes and the snarl on his lips made him look more savage than the werewolf.  
"You told him," he growled accusingly at her. She looked at him in astonished wonder. He had been fighting, a bruised cut under his left eye. The gear at his right shoulder was torn in a long rip and his dyed black hair was a wild tangle.

"What happened to you?" she gasped.

He came at her then, his fury unleashed. One hand seized her neck and hauled her up against the metal gates. "What else did you tell him," he spat out.

She had released the seraph blade and both hands clawed at Jonathan's iron fingers that crushed tighter around her throat. She looked pleadingly at Jonathan, unable to make a sound, her lungs screaming for air. She could have kicked out at him or used her fists to strike him but she could not believe he would really hurt her and would not fight him.

"He called you Clary!" Jonathan roared at her, then threw her down on the cement sidewalk.

"No," she managed to scratch out of her throat. "I don't know how it knew my name …" she answered weakly, trying to prop up her elbows to lift her head.

"You told JACE!" he bellowed with disgust.

Oh God, he was right. Clary had not even registered it. After they exited the subway, right before she flew away from them, she heard his voice calling out for her but he said Clary, not Sera.

"Jonathan," she whispered in horrified fear. "What did you do? Did you hurt him?" She was terrified. Nothing could happen to Jace.

This was apparently the wrong response. Outrage lined his face. Impossibly, he was even more enraged. He struck her with a backhanded blow that split her lip and drove her back down to the ground. He raised a leg to kick her as she tried to curl into a ball. An extended furry form charged through the air and wrestled Jonathan away with a series of thunderous yelps and growls. The door to the police station flew open and a pack of wolves streamed out. By that point Jonathan had the young wolf in a deadly hold, snapped its back then flung it aside. It made a high keeling whine and slumped to the ground. Clary sat up and crawled over to it, tears unknowingly falling from her eyes. The wolf pack numbered more than a dozen and they circled Jonathan menacingly, vibrating with a deep, low rumble. A large gray wolf made a sudden forward movement that prompted the others to follow its lead. Clary could see Jonathan crouching calmly before them, a mass of sharp teeth and claws outstretched ready to beset him, when he twisted a silver ring she had never seen before on his right hand and vanished from sight.

She reached the young wolf. She could not even think about the pack of wolves around her somewhere. Was it dead? Did Jonathan kill it? It had sacrificed itself for her. How? Why? Her head was spinning. Her throat still felt sore and raw from Jonathan's chokehold. It hurt to swallow but the tears kept streaming down her eyes. She couldn't tell if it was due to the shock of Jonathan's assault, sorrow for the downed wolf or the terror of not knowing what happened to Jace. The wolf seemed to shimmer as it metamorphosed back to a human shape. It was a boy. He had thick chocolate brown hair. It had run long, snarled and uncut for months. His lashes were a darker shade of brown and spanned long below his closed lids. His olive skin was marred with scratches and a livid swelling of deep blue bruises to come.

"Simon," she cried softly. She was afraid to touch him, not knowing how badly he was hurt.

His eyes fluttered open, "Clary … it is you." His own eyes flooded with tears.

She collapsed on him then. Her arms winding around his him as she sobbed heartily in his neck.

"Oww," Simon complained. He slowly lifted an arm and gingerly patted her back. "I heal fast but not that fast. That crazy son of a bitch has got some berserker strength."

Clary raised her head then, struggled to keep her face straight, then burst out with laughter. "Simon, you don't know the half of it … and don't call her a bitch." She shook her head knowing she must look like a lunatic laughing and crying at the same time.

Clary felt another set of solid hands lift her up and press her tightly into wide familiar shoulders. It was covered in a soft, frayed fleece shirt that she would know anywhere.

"Luke," she held him tightly. She felt like she was five again, waking up from a terrible nightmare and Luke was there to reassure her she was safe and the monsters couldn't get her. She felt herself shaking violently in his arms.

"She's in shock," Luke informed the others. "Bring him in. I'll take her." He instructed the other men and women that stood by as he picked her up, strong and steady.

"Get your paws off her," a steely voice cut in.

It was Jace, holding two blazing seraph blades. Izzy, with an unleashed electrum whip, and Alec, with an arrow nocked against a long bow, braced him on either side. They all looked worse for wear with fresh iratze runes evident on their bodies. Their gear were torn and brown with dried blood. The gashes had sealed but angry red welts disclosed the source of the clotted blood.


	12. Chapter 12 Recap

Valentine was remarkably placid while Jonathan fumed. He said nothing as he observed his son who barely ever demonstrated the slightest emotion but was now raging. Clary had betrayed them. They had to get her back. She belonged with them. She had to be taught. He would teach her himself. She was naïve, gullible, stupidly mesmerized by Jace's golden boy, muscle bound charms. A complete idiot could see he would use her and toss her aside. She was nothing to him, a conquest. He was the type of boy that could never get attached. He would suck away her vitality, leave her a dry husk, before he tired of her and discarded her, never giving her a second thought. Valentine could not help but notice how very much this rapacious description fit Jonathan himself. Valentine had ample occasion to witness Jonathan's interactions with male and female subjects during his many years of behavioral training. It was necessary to develop a smooth, charismatic veneer that unfortunately did not come innately to Jonathan.

"This may work to our advantage," Valentine interrupted Jonathan's boiling monologue.

Jonathan ceased pacing and eyed his father suspiciously, "What do you mean?"

"I mean, if there is an attachment between them, it will make them all the easier to manipulate." Valentine envisioned his final triumph over the Clave with his wife, sons and daughter celebrating his eminence. He had abandoned Jace (an interesting nickname that Valentine would not have chosen but made it easier to distinguish him from his own Jonathan) when he realized Jace could not possess the ruthlessness needed to enforce his vision but he had loved him nonetheless and had always hoped to reunite with the boy one day. He did not think it a bad thing if Jace and Clary mated. They were both singularly touched by the angel and he actually could not think of another more gifted shadowhunter who could suitably partner with his progeny. It would also be interesting to see what kind of offspring they would breed given the experiments that were conducted during their own fetal development although he had unknowingly conducted the second experiment on his own issue, kept ignorant of Clary's conception. However, he did not regret it. She had a power he had not imagined but he did not like having her around him. She was almost a mirror image of her mother at that age, when the world was full of possibilities and he had fallen deeply in love but she was also a vivid reminder that Jocelyn had ultimately spurned him and now he knew why. It was her, this child, that compelled Jocelyn to connive against him. She wanted the child more than she wanted him and he despised the girl for it.

If Valentine permitted their love, they would be grateful. He could use their fear of losing each other to control them and if they married he could remove her from his presence. He had no compunction against urging them to marry young. She would reside separately with Jace. He would not need to see her except when he required the use of her powers. He smiled to himself, commending his own strategies. His eyes flicked to Jonathan as he moved toward his father.

"Are you saying you'd let him have her?" Jonathan asked in a deceptively subdued voice.

Valentine said nothing, only watching his son curiously.

"She belongs to me! He doesn't deserve her. He's just a common pretty boy. He's nothing. I incapacitated him in seconds," Jonathan spat venomously.

"I thought you said he didn't care for her, that he doesn't even want her," Valentine replied sedately. "Jonathan, I hope you realize Clary is your sister, not your consort," he measured his words carefully. He was worried about Jonathan. The rabid turn of his eyes and frenzied pacing alarmed Valentine. He had never seen Jonathan so completely lacking self-control.

"Do not attempt to qualify my relationship with my sister," Jonathan answered curtly. "You made me what I am. I am unnatural. Part demon, part angel, part human. There is no one else in the world that can be what she is to me," he snarled.

And what is she?" Valentine questioned in his composed monotone.

"My sister, my goddess, my lover," he answered slowly his hands clenched in tight fists.

Valentine was aghast and tempted to ask his son if he were joking but the concept was too outlandish. They never joked. "I see," was his only response. At one time he would have gotten up, taken Jonathan's underarm, walked him to one of the cells below and beat him senseless. While he knew he still dominated Jonathan he could see this obsession with his sister had unhinged him and made him unpredictable. He sensed Jonathan would not meekly follow his commands where it concerned Clarissa.

"Tell me, Jonathan," Valentine enunciated. "Will Clary agree to these terms in your assumed relationship? Or do you mean to force her, take her against her will?

"We will come to an agreement," Jonathan said haltingly. "I know her. She will come to me," he continued with more assurance.

"We will have to leave the Manor now," Valentine announced, wanting to change the topic. He would need time to reflect upon this development at length to determine the best course of action. He was disturbed by his son's perverse and incestuous inclination toward his own sister but he had long ago learned to regulate his reactions to his son. He had known the child would be extraordinary, different. He had grown powerful, nourished by a greater demon while forming in his mother's womb, but still Valentine had not comprehended the levels of inhuman cruelty and brutality the child possessed. Lilith had warned him but he had not understood that the child, his son, would not know, share or even desire human attachment … until now. He wondered why it should be his own sister that would stir an emotion from the boy. Was it his demon blood that compelled him or her angel blood that lured him? Or was it some depraved mixture of their shared genetics along with both of these elements?

"Where will we go?" Jonathan's obsidian eyes bore into him.

Valentine felt vaguely uneasy returning Jonathan's piercing gaze. "To Renwick's. I've sent Blackwell and Pangborn to ready our quarters. Be ready to leave in five minutes. I must attend to your mother." Valentine got up and left the room still feeling Jonathan's unmoving eyes on his back.

* * *

Jace had lived many years without fear ever since he arrived at the New York Institute orphaned and alone. But he knew it then, when he woke from the blows that had rendered him unconscious. Alec was anxiously hovering over him tracing iratzes on his body and Izzy was looming above, peering fretfully down at him. His stomach constricted painfully and his heart seemed to stop as an icy chill bloomed in his chest. Clary! Where was she? Was she OK? If Sebastian touched her! He tried to jump up, go to her, find her, but Alec and Izzy steadfastly held him down. A leg was broken and his wounds were deep. He had to stay still a little while longer. It would only cause more injury and further delay to try to move now, they reasoned with him but were practically sitting on him to keep him immobile.

"How long? How long have I been out?" Jace asked hurriedly.

"It hasn't been long," reassured Izzy. "Just stop, Jace. Now can you explain what happened?"

"Sebastian … is batshit crazy," Jace shook his head.

"And incredibly fast," Alec muttered. "I've never seen anyone but you move like that. And the way he threw you ... What was he carrying on about? One second he's yelling about someone named Clara? Then the next thing I know he's flailing at you with a sword and throwing you across the street," Alec puzzled.

"Yeah," Jace mumbled shaking his head. A disorienting haze still fogged his head. "I wasn't prepared for that. He won't catch me like that next time."

Who," Izzy interrupted, "is Clara?" She wove her gold electrum whip around her wrist. "And how in Raziel's name did he snap the arrow out of your hand," she turned her head to Alec, "and knock my legs out from under me at the same time?"

Jace propped himself up and found he was strong enough to push Alec and Izzy aside, "Enough, I've got to get to Clary."

"Who the hell is Clary?" both Izzy and Alec sputtered but didn't hesitate to follow Jace as he briskly hobbled to the werewolf headquarters.

It took way longer than it should have to get to the abandoned police station. He had healed enough to run by the time they reached the street corner. His heart stopped at the sight of Clary on the ground. She was clinging to a wolf boy in human form. He was in pretty bad shape from the look of it, some broken ribs, pretty severe welts and bruises but no permanent damage that Jace could see.

When the werewolf leader came up behind her Jace sprang into action, pulling two seraphs out from his inner gear sleeves at the same time summoning the angels, Amitiel and Dumah. He could feel Alec and Izzy tensing for a fight and readying their weapons beside him.

"Get your paws off her," the words came out before it dawned on him. She knew him. She was sobbing uncontrollably but holding onto the werewolf - middle-aged, medium height, solid build, shaggy brown hair streaked with gray and some bookworm type glasses - with an obvious desperation.

"Who are you?" Jace asked just as the werewolf glared at him and said, "What do you want?"

"Clary," was Jace's only answer.

She turned then and Jace could see the purplish, red handprint at her throat, the dried blood below a split lip and the angry red swelling across her cheek.

"Jace," her voice was low and raspy. "Thank God you're okay. Thank God," she whispered and dropped her head back in a faint.


	13. Chapter 13 Wake Up Clary

The wolves growled unhappily, hardly gracious about Jace, Alec and Isabelle's entry into their lair. Luke, the pack leader, held Clary gently, keeping her limp form in his arms while the other wolves lay the injured wereboy in a cot on the other side of the room. Luke sat on an old, worn, leather armchair, his eyes fixed on Clary as he held her protectively in his arms.

Luke would not let the Nephilim children, as he called them, apply iratzes on her. She needs to rest he explained. The iratze would wake her. Let her wake when she's ready then iratze away. Like he knew anything about an iratze.

Izzy was not sure she agreed with the wolfman but she could not deny he cared for her, that he loved her. More than the way he held her, rocking her softly as if she were a baby, but the way he looked at her as if he couldn't stop looking, as if he had to keep looking to make sure she was really there. They had heard the werewolves were flouting the compacts, picking fights with the other downworlders. They were looking for someone and they were looking for answers. It seemed like their restless search was over. They had their answer now.

"By the angel, what is going on?" Izzy let out in a frustrated but quiet voice.

Simon opened his eyes and looked at her curiously. He was kind of cute, thought Izzy. A bit lanky but with the sturdy build of a werewolf, long curling chocolate hair and big brown eyes framed by thick lashes. Disheveled, definitely needs a shower, but cute, very cute. One of the other wolves, Gretchen, Luke called her, had come in, examined the boy, tended to his wounds as he winced with pain then left urging him to take some water and some aspirin. Luke and the shadowhunters had managed to share their names but there had been no other conversation and Izzy was getting pissed. She hated feeling left out and let's face it, that just didn't happen. People, OK boys, always wanted her around, would tell her anything she wanted to hear to get her to stay.

"Let's just get something straight. Sera is Clary. Am I right?" Izzy was not staying quiet any longer.

Jace, who had his arms crossed, slouching in a chair across from Luke, seemed to awaken from some inner dialogue and looked expectantly at Luke. Well she wasn't the only one who wanted some answers.

"I don't know who Sera is, but that's Clary," the cute boy mumbled. He seemed much better than when they first brought him in and was now sitting up. He was no longer covered in dark blue bruises. They had faded to a yellowish brown.

"You know her," Izzy returned. She noticed Jace was closely observing the boy, his eyes narrowing.

"Of course I do. She's my best friend. We've known each other since we were five … I'm Simon, by the way," he ended sheepishly.

"Oh, I'm Isabelle. Izzy," she gave him a small smile and flipped her hair back with a quick snap of her neck. She was satisfied when his eyes widened.

"Why would Clary's best friend be a werewolf?" Jace asked.

Simon turned and silently appraised Jace.

"I haven't been one for long," he answered. His brown eyes seemed to catch the light. They glowed bright blue then darkened back to a burnt umber.

"He was following me," Luke broke in. He had finally lifted his eyes away from Clary. "He didn't know what I am and … he got attacked … by a member of the pack. I didn't know until it was too late," he shook his head regretfully at Simon.

"It's not your fault," Simon answered as if he had said the words more times that he could count. "I had to do something. Someone took her and her mom, completely wrecked her apartment and the cops that showed up afterward … they were totally useless and … freaky."

"Probably demons," said Jace languidly. "They have a way of covering each other's tracks."

"Yeah," Simon agreed, "I've had a few demon run-ins since 'the change' and yeah, freaky would describe the experience …"

"Wait a minute," Jace sat up suddenly, "You said Clary and her mom went missing … Did they by any chance live in Brooklyn?"

Simon shifted uncomfortably at the rapid change in topic, his eyes turned to Luke questioningly, "uh, yeah, so what?"

"Sera … Clary … is Valentine Morgenstern's daughter? She's … Clary Morgenstern?" Alec looked stunned.

"Her name is Clarissa Fairchild," Luke levelled a steady gaze at the three shadowhunters. "She is Jocelyn Fairchild's daughter. She never knew about Valentine ... until ..."

"The Clave," began Alec, "will need to know …"

"No," Luke replied gravely, "the Clave did nothing to help them, to find them. The Clave will only hurt her to try to get to Valentine."

"That's not fair," Izzy spoke up. "They didn't know it was Valentine Morgenstern. Everyone thinks he's dead. The Clave has to know he's still around and God knows what he's up to."

"That's not quite true, is it?" Jace stood up. "Magnus knew. Magnus warned us all but the Clave didn't want to believe it. And … we don't know what the Clave will do with Clary."

"They have to protect her. They have to help her. She's a shadowhunter," Alec answered a little uncertainly.

"But she didn't know she was a shadowhunter. She didn't know anything until … Valentine took her," Jace frowned.

"It sure looks like she knows she's a shadowhunter now. What did he do to her? What did he tell her? Why was she here? What was she doing? Who is Sebastian? What's his story?" The questions came fast and furious as Izzy tried to make heads or tails of the whole mess.

"Whoa," said a weak, hoarse voice. "Izzy … are you in a tizzy?"

Everyone rushed toward Clary, except Luke who just lowered his head to look down at her. Izzy pulled out her stele, ready to apply an iratze. Luke did say as soon as she woke up …

Clary's eyes opened wide as they crowded around her and she then seemed to realize she was cradled in Luke's arms.

"Luke, put me down," Clary squirmed out of his arms but kept an arm around his neck. "Thank you." She said softly.

"So, what did I miss?" she asked hesitantly.

"First, we iratze, then we talk," Izzy stepped in. "And by talk, I mean you've got some explaining to do. Major explaining."

* * *

"You look terrible," Izzy commented as she nimbly spun the stele into twists and twirls by Clary's collarbone, just below the ugly bruise around her neck. She wasn't used to seeing Nephilim standing and all beat up, well not for long anyway. The runes generally made quick work of any injuries they suffered although shadowhunter healing was naturally faster than ordinary humans. She was a little surprised Jace didn't insist on taking care of Sera-Clary himself. The new name was going to take some getting used to.

"Well, I don't feel so hot," she sounded better already, stronger. The iratze faded from her skin, glowing white as the bruises seemed to melt away from her skin.

Clary looked hesitantly around at the others. Jace remained quiet. His gaze stayed focused on Clary but he hadn't said a word. Izzy had never seen him keep his mouth shut for so long. She was a little worried. He always had some snarky remark to contribute. He stood a bit further back from the rest of them, standing tall and wary, as if he expected a bomb, or maybe Sebastian, to drop in front of them.

Clary had learned what happened to Simon while Izzy administered to her wounds. She sat on the armchair that Luke vacated to lean at her side and held Simon's hand tightly as he recounted what he had already told the other shadowhunters before Clary was conscious again.

"So, you know I'm … Nephilim … and you're a werewolf … and Luke … you're a werewolf … Is there anyone else I should know about?" she had asked a little wildly.

"No, I think that's it," Simon responded, "Well I've had my suspicions about Joe the Janitor … that guy's hairier than any werewolf I've seen yet."

Clary shook her head but a small smile formed on her healing lips.

"I'm serious," Simon was emphatic. "That guy's practically got fur coming out of his ears."

"Oh, Simon," sighed Clary. "I've missed you so much. I didn't think I'd ever see you again," she clasped both hands over Simon's.

Simon whitened then reached over to hug Clary, "What happened? Please tell us. I was so worried about you. I couldn't think straight. I haven't been able to think straight since that night you disappeared."

"I … I don't know if I can," Clary stuttered. "I'm sorry. I just don't know what he'll do … He's … powerful. He's not an ordinary shadowhunter. He has … special abilities. He can summon demons to his bidding and … he knows things … things nobody else knows."

"You mean Valentine?" Simon asked, his face screwed up with concern.

Alec and Izzy leaned forward as if they could pull the information they needed out of Clary. Luke's face blazed at the mention of Valentine but Jace remained a statue. Still and quiet, just listening and watching Clary.

"You already know so much … too much. He'll see you as a threat. He will hurt you," Clary looked warningly at Simon, then Luke moving onto Izzy and Alec, leaving Jace for last. Her eyes lingered with him. Her face crumpled and she swiftly looked away.

"It's my fault. If I just didn't lose control. I wasn't supposed to … I knew what would happen if … I just," her eyes were magnetically drawn back to Jace.

"Ser … Clary, do you need a little privacy with Jace? I get the feeling you two need to talk … alone," Izzy offered, realizing there was a lot of unspoken tension between the two of them. And anything that would help to loosen Clary's lips would be a big help.

"What are you smiling about?" Alec asked her, noticing the small grin that escaped her own lips.

"Nothing. Just a play on words in my own head. I crack myself up sometimes," Izzy said simply. Speaking of lips, she glanced at Simon who looked pretty good now. The yellowish brown bruises had all but vanished although he still had the large gauze bandages wrapped around his ribs but Izzy suspected he might not need those now either. She wondered what he had looked like before he turned all wolfy. She suspected he was probably not quite so buff. Something about the way he held himself like he wasn't used to having muscle tone that should be showcased.

Clary seemed to notice Izzy's interest. She furrowed her brow for a brief moment but then her face lit up as an idea seemed to pop into her head "Geez, Simon. Maybe you should cover up the bod a little. I think it's distracting some of us."

"Wha … ?" Simon looked at her with the cutest confused face ever.

OK, get a grip, Izzy thought. Why do I feel like I'm panting over this guy. He's sort of geeky. Hot geeky.

"Izzy, you're right. I think Jace and I do need a moment to ourselves," Clary stiffened her back with resolve. "Jace, do you mind?" she looked at him anxiously.

Jace just nodded his head. It was seriously like he just lost the ability to speak. Weird. Izzy knew he liked, like seriously liked, Clary. Hell, she didn't really know what he felt about her but she knew she had never seen him act this way around another girl. She knew from that first night they had all met, he had stared at Clary like he was in neck deep and sinking fast. She knew he had practically broken another arm and leg wrestling with Alec and her to get back to Clary when he thought she was in danger. She could also imagine though that this whole 'she's Valentine's daughter for Chrissakes and that evil dude obviously sent her here for some nefarious plot' couldn't be a real relationship builder.

"Clary, are you sure you're well enough? Don't you think you should lie down a little longer?" asked Luke attentively.

"Yeah," Simon agreed as he shrugged on a flannel button down shirt Luke handed to him. "Maybe you don't want to be alone … with Jace … right now." Simon eyed Jace cautiously. It was pretty clear something wasn't kosher between the two of them and he stood near Clary in a shielding stance.

"Simon, don't worry," Clary cleared her throat. "Jace, wouldn't hurt me." She looked at him questioningly, willing him to confirm her words.

"Well, he's a shadowhunter, isn't he?" Simon peered at Clary searchingly. "They don't exactly have a stellar track record keeping you safe as far as I'm concerned."

"Simon, I'm a shadowhunter. I keep myself safe," Clary answered firmly.

"But that crazy dude …" Simon started.

"No, Simon," Clary cut him off. "That was different. I couldn't fight him then. He's my … It doesn't matter now. I would fight him now. He's not … who I thought he was."

"My God," Luke seemed to sag with understanding. "Is he …?"

"Luke, please, we'll talk about this after I speak with Jace, please," Clary asked beseechingly.

"OK, Clary. Fifteen minutes. Then _we_ have to talk. We have to get your mother back." Luke's calm demeanor before Clary had woken, while he held her and watched her reassuringly, was gone.

Izzy followed Luke, Alec and Simon out the door. She was the last to leave and could see Clary approach Jace slowly, cautiously, their eyes glued on each other.


	14. Chapter 14 To Divine

Clary bit her lip. She had no idea what to say to Jace. She had no idea what she _could_ say to Jace. How would she keep him safe? She had gotten used to seeing his golden eyes ignited with emotion when he looked at her, smirking amusement, artless glee, burning passion, serene bliss, anxious concern. They were now dull and shuttered. There was no tenderness behind them as far as she could see. He doesn't trust me Clary realized. She couldn't blame him. She understood why he wouldn't want anything more to do with her. She had deceived him.

When the others had left, she had let herself draw close to him, wanting his touch, wanting him to hold her as brief as it might be, knowing she should stay away from him. He hadn't moved at all. She couldn't even tell if he was breathing and when she touched his arm, he had stiffened. She dropped her hand quickly then.

As much as she wanted to turn and walk away, to protect her own fragile ego, she knew that wasn't an option. She had to lay the groundwork. She had to keep him safe.

"Jace, I know you must hate me," she kept her eyes down. She didn't want to look into his barren eyes anymore. "I'm sorry. I was doing the only thing I could do. I'm a soldier. I do as I'm told or at least I'm supposed to." Clary imagined facing Valentine again. He would be livid. He would punish her and he would eliminate the others. He would not allow the Clave to find out about him before he had the mortal cup. That was it. She had to find it. She had to bring it back to him. It was the only way to save them. And she had to keep Jace away from Valentine. Valentine seemed to care for Jace but Clary knew Jace would never be safe around him. Valentine would use him like he used her, like he used Jonathan.

"Was it all a lie?" Jace spoke at last in a quiet murmur. "What you said … how you feel about me?"

"No, no … how could you think that? I meant what I said in the greenhouse. I shouldn't have told you but I couldn't keep it in. I thought I could give you that one true piece of me and go and I'm sorry. If I just stuck to the plan, you would be … safe." Clary was overwhelmed by a wave of despair that rushed over her.

Clary almost cringed when she felt Jace's long steady fingers wrap around her arms. She didn't know what to expect, that he would push her away, but then she felt those steady hands trembling and had to see what was on his face. She lifted her head and felt his mouth come crashing down on hers. It was a different type of kiss from the ones they had already shared. It was hard and demanding and it was exactly what she needed. Her arms reached around his waist. His hands gripped her shoulders then snaked around her back and pressed her tight against him as he bent over her, folding over her. One hand traveled slowly down her spine and the way their bodies fit into each other was so intensely intimate it felt like they were one person. There was nothing else in that moment but Jace, his hard, lean body sculpted against hers, claiming every part of her, making her apart of him. She breathed him in as their mouths moved together, tasting each other, their tongues dancing, brushing against the other.

Jace finally broke away, leaning his forehead over the top of her head as they both panted for air. They were still holding onto each other, their arms encased around the other, their bodies tightly embraced.

"I could do that forever but Luke did say fifteen minutes," he said. She could feel him smiling against her head. "Next time, we do this behind a locked door, somewhere nobody can barge into," he laughed softly.

Clary kept her face pressed to his chest moving her hands up and down the side of his body pushing her own slight but throbbing chest into his.

"If you keep doing that I can't be held responsible for my actions," he breathed into her ear.

"I … I'm sorry. You just make me want to feel … everything," she sighed against him. "I love you." She shook her head into him but loosened her grip and backed away.

He stopped her and when she brought her eyes back up to meet his she could see everything that he had held back before.

"I'm dying here," his voice was rough. "I would die for you."

"Stop. Stop it, Jace," she said firmly. "I never want to hear you say that. I never want that to be true. I only exist if you live." Clary wondered at the truth in her words. She wondered how quickly this happened. She wondered that she had the courage to say these things. She hadn't even known him a week ago and now she couldn't exist without him.

It felt like they just stood there staring at each other in a time loop. He was the most beautiful thing she could imagine and if she did nothing but stand there and stare at him she could be completely content.

"Ahem," an overly loud voice cleared its throat.

They were only just standing, his hands gripping her shoulders, her hands clasped on his waist but somehow it felt like they were interrupted at a deeply private moment.

"So you two …" Simon stood by the door, "have a thing?" His eyes flashed a bright blue and Isabelle, behind him, put a hand on his shoulder.

"I think that would be an understatement," she whispered. "Listen, kids," she continued more audibly, "hate to disturb this magical moment and all, but we really got to figure out what we're doing."

Clary turned to Isabelle, nodding her head slowly. "Yes, we have to find the mortal cup. That's the only way to end this."

* * *

The shadowhunters made their way back to the New York Institute. Clary didn't know what she was doing. She just knew she had to keep them away from Valentine. She knew he would not show them any mercy. She knew he only tolerated her because she was his own flesh and blood. She tried to give them as little information as she could. She told them she didn't know where Valentine kept them. It was a large house. Somewhere isolated, away from any other homes, just a lot of green fields. That was already too much as Luke and the shadowhunters guessed Valentine was hiding in Idris. They wanted to know what kind of special abilities he possessed, that Clary had mentioned. What would he do with the mortal cup? What was his plan? She described how he carried Jocelyn's unconscious form through some invisible force, how she saw him call on various demons who obeyed his commands as if he were their master, that he had some unknown means of disappearing into another dimension and forming wards and glamours that went beyond what shadowhunters had access to with their runes. She tried to impress on them the danger he represented. That for their own good, they needed to stay away from him. She slumped with failure as the young shadowhunters grew animated, guessing at how he acquired these powers, heedless to the peril she tried so hard to convey. She only knew Valentine planned to assemble a new breed of shadowhunters with the cup, one that he planned to rule over.

Luke was more keenly interested in Jocelyn's welfare. Was he hurting her? Where was she imprisoned? At least Clary could answer Luke's questions openly. She was in some sort of spellbound coma placed on her by a warlock before Valentine found them. Even as she narrated Valentine's story to Luke and the others, she knew it didn't make sense. The Clave wasn't interested in finding her or her mother according to the others, so why had they sent a warlock to capture her? But that was all she had to go by. She realized she may be as lost to the truth as they were.

It had been difficult to convince Alec and Izzy not to immediately notify the Council but they gradually agreed to wait to discuss the entire matter with Hodge. Jace was less difficult to convince. He was worried about Clary and worried what the Clave would do to her. Luke and Simon had no confidence in the Clave and Luke was as anxious as Clary to find the cup to bargain with Valentine for Jocelyn's release.

It was very late by the time they trudged back to the Institute. Even Alec and Izzy conceded to sleep and further discussion in the morning. Jace had walked Clary to her room. He was not immune to fatigue but he had held her and kissed her gently before he left for his own bed.

"What are you holding back?" he had asked her. "We have each other now. You will never be alone again," he whispered.

But she was alone now. In her room, alone with her thoughts and fear. Fear for Jace, fear for Luke, Simon, Izzy and Alec. She had changed into a t-shirt and sleeping shorts and sat on her bed trying to figure out what she needed to do. How to appease Valentine? How to rescue her mother? How to prevent any harm to the people she loved and cared for? And then she had another thought. Clary got up and pulled out her stele from the pocket of her gear. She walked over to the wall and drew the divining rune. She had not been tempted to use it again since the first time. There was something vaguely threatening about the thick slashing lines, a warning to its user that they opened a Pandora's box. It pulsed, waiting for her direction.

"Jace Wayland," she said softly.

The shadows seemed to war with each other as sizzling colors crossed against each other in lightning strikes. And then Jace appeared as a small boy. She recognized the green fields from the Wayland Manor home in Idris. He had a powerful and splendidly regal falcon on his gloved arm. Its feathers a sleek outline of blues and greys. It wore a hood, its head turning from left to right as it clutched Jace's arm. There was no trepidation in its movements. It completely trusted Jace and Jace's golden eyes were bright with pride and affection for the magnificent bird. A large hand came down, gripping the falcon below the plumage at its neck and then another hand held the head and twisted quickly. The bird went slack and dropped to the ground. The vision reeled back to identify the owner of the merciless hands. It was Valentine, a younger Valentine but easily recognizable. Then the scene changed to another Jace. Still young, but a few years had passed. He held a stele tightly in his hand. He was in a tight enclosed space, a closet, and he drew a viewing rune to look through its door. There was Valentine again. He struggled with a pair of shadowhunters dressed in gear. As he grappled with one hulking opponent, the other pulled out a long sword and plunged it into Valentine's back. He collapsed, blood flowing heavily out of his wound and seeping into the closet floor as Jace watched, both hands pressed tightly against the door, his body completely frozen in place, golden eyes wide with shock and grief. Another Jace appeared. It looked like little time had passed since the last image but this Jace was different. He stood remote and guarded, his head bowed. His blond hair hung low almost covering his lifeless eyes. Maryse appeared, crouched down before him, held him and stroke his head cautiously. Behind her, stood Alec and Isabelle as children, their curious gazes lingering on Jace. Another Jace materialized. Her Jace, but not her Jace. He looked like her Jace, the same height, build, hair. He was training and relentless. His skin was taut over the flexing muscles of his body, gleaming with sweat. He was magnificent. Jace was in mid-flight, his right leg outstretched in a kick when his gear seemed to weave over his body and now he was demolishing demons. Running head first into the attack, well ahead of Alec and Izzy who quickly followed his lead. Izzy's whip lashing out to his left while Alec's arrows bolted out to his right. He had a single minded determined focus and just as a demon lurched over Alec, who was unaware of its presence, its talons only inches from carving into him, Jace flung Alec aside and absorbed the demon's cut at the same time the blades seemingly attached to his arms removed its head from its black ichor spewing body. The vision shifted again and there was Jace, but this time she was there too. Clary gasped at the sight of herself but Jace was the star of this show and there was a light in his eyes that hadn't been there in the earlier images. She recognized the scene when they had first met and he stood there, stunned at the sight of her, but there was a change in the way he held himself that she had not known at the time. Gone was the slack nonchalance, the void that seemed to follow him in the other visions. The spark in his eyes spoke volumes. And then there was a final scene. Somehow she knew this was the end. The future was enveloped in a fog that made it difficult to make out any details but there was Jace. His golden head and angelic beauty unmistakable even in the clouded haze. He was beaten, badly, seemed to barely have the strength to stand on his feet but held a sword in both hands without a tremor. He held it against Valentine, a red bloom appearing where the sharp tip of the sword met Valentine's chest. And then … Valentine struck so fast it was blinding. In his hands, his own broad sword, only the hilt of it visible as blood streamed out of Jace's chest. And the light, the glow of life in Jace's eyes drifted away. And that was it. The vision did not bother to fade away. It immediately turned pitch black as if it perished with Jace.

* * *

 **Small tribute to the late, great artist, Prince. The sexiest man in heels.**


	15. Chapter 15 A Night to Remember

**OK. Just a warning. I think this chapter earns the Mature rating.**

* * *

Clary could not stop shaking. Her worst fears displayed, uncovered and raw in her mind's eye. Jace would die. Jace would die at Valentine's hand. She could no longer hold onto that small part of her that wanted to believe somehow things would work out, that somehow they would get the upper hand and defeat Valentine. But that was precisely what she had to do. She had to destroy him. It was the only way to save Jace and that was the only thing that mattered now. She loved her mother. She loved Luke. She loved Simon but none of that mattered compared to ensuring Jace's survival. And now she really understood how true it was when she told him she only existed if he lived. If he died, there would be no Clary. Whatever she was would just completely cease to be if he didn't breathe. Even if she herself did not survive at least there would be some vestige of her if Jace lived. Her heart and mind were set at that moment. It was selfish. It was the most selfish thing she could do and she knew it.

Clary wiped away the tears that flowed down her face. She washed her face and examined herself in the bathroom mirror. She stepped into the shower and cleansed her body. She let her hands travel up and down the toned curves that had been painstakingly etched out over the months of grueling training. She had this one night to let go, let herself immerse herself in a love that made everything else pale in comparison. She stepped out of the shower and toweled herself dry. Her hair was still damp but that didn't matter. She went through her clothes and found a sheer cotton nightgown, hardly what she was hoping for but it would be easy to pull off and that would suit. A part of her could hardly believe how easily this all came to her. How she hardly blushed at the thought of what she was set to do. But that part was instantly smothered by the growing desire in her breast. She put on the nightgown and nothing else, then left her room. She hesitated when she reached his room. She knew what she wanted but how would he take it? He knew when she was keeping things from him but he loved her and he would not force anything from her. She knocked on his door. She felt a flush through her body as she waited. The reality of what she was doing felt suffocating and she almost turned back to her room when the door opened. Jace looked surprised to see her. He had been asleep and his golden eyes were squinting from the lighted hallway. He was bare chested, only wearing blue pajama pants. She did not allow him to speak. She just moved in, placed her hands around his neck and kissed him with all the fervor and desire that electrified her body. The thin cotton gown was all that separated her from his naked chest and she flattened her breasts against him. He was startled but recovered quickly. His arms wrapped around her back. She could feel their rapid hearts beating as one and she knew she would not turn back from this moment. This was what she wanted, what she needed. Whatever else happened after tonight, she would have this night. She pushed him into the room and shut the door with a backward kick of her leg. It was dark in his room. Their kiss deepened and every nerve ending soared. She knew she was practically forcing herself on him but he didn't seem to object. She kept pressing their bodies toward his bed until she pushed him down on it and then straddled over him. Finally she pulled her mouth away and let herself look at him. Moonlight streamed in from a window and she could make out his exquisite face, the hard curves of his bare chest, the perfectly framed abdomen, the way the muscles tightened under his heavy breath, the tapering waist. She bent her head down and kissed every inch of his exposed chest.

"Clary …," he groaned. "What …?"

She covered his mouth with her own to silence his questions and lowered the nightgown off her naked body.

She couldn't see his expression but immediately felt him tense everywhere and then his hands moved, his mouth moved everywhere. He flipped their bodies and lowered himself over her to suck on her neck, her shoulders, her breasts, her stomach and she gasped as she felt his kisses at the apex of her thighs. She urged him back up. She needed him. She needed his mouth on hers. She needed to feel the length of his body lined up against her own. He was trembling as he met her lips again. She used her legs to push his pajama pants off and could feel the hard throbbing heat between his legs pressed against her thighs. There was no hesitancy in her movements as she rolled her hips against his and let the wetness between her legs smear up against his bare flesh. She could feel his self control break through the dams. She closed her eyes, memorizing the feel of his body, gripping every part of him against her, inside her slowly, gently, when she whispered he was her first and only, then more pounding and insistent, and finally the uncontrollable release of their conjoined bodies.

* * *

Jace woke up in a daze. It was much later in the day than he would usually get up judging by the daylight streaming in through the window. It took half a second before he remembered why, what he had been doing for hours the night before and did again after a brief euphoric interlude. She had finally passed out, succumbing to sleep sometime in the early morning hours and he could drink in the full sight of her in the dawning light, creamy skin, adorable freckles sprinkled over her button nose, the coppery highlights in her long red curls spread across her back as she slept soundly on her stomach, his arm below her head, the downy feel of her body next to his. The recollection brought a jolt and a piercing need to have her back in his arms, under his body, quivering below him and her legs wrapped around him. He was alone in his bed and the smile that had formed on his face slid away as he realized she wasn't there with him anymore.

He swung his legs over the bed, finding his discarded pajama pants on the floor and pulled them on. He walked over to his bathroom to see if he could find her there but it was empty. He combed his fingers through his hair in frustration. Why would she slip out like that? Why wouldn't she at least let him know she was leaving? She was all hot or cold. Not that he didn't thoroughly appreciate the hot periods but the cold was driving him insane. She was worth it, of course, but he really wished he knew what was going through her mind. He knew she was terrified of Valentine. He supposed this fear had her living on the edge of a knife. He just wished she could see he would do everything and anything to keep her safe and that she trusted him to do that. He placed his head in his hands, both hands fisted in his hair.

There was a knock at his door and Jace jumped up. He walked swiftly to the door and opened it. The eager hope on his face dampened at the sight of Alec.

"Well, I gotta say you're making me feel very wanted right now. Let me guess, you were hoping for someone else, someone about a foot smaller, red hair?" Alec's eyes moved over Jace. "You do know it's almost noon, don't you? Don't tell me I just woke you up now."

"I didn't sleep well," Jace answered, crossing his arms. "Is there something you need?"

"Duh, Jace. We need to talk with Hodge. Luke and Simon are here, too. There's still a lot to figure out, man." Alec looked at Jace a bit confounded. "Did you actually forget?"

Jace shrugged. "I'll be out in five. Let me just get washed and dressed." Jace was about to shut the door, then stopped. "Hey, is Clary with Luke and Simon? How long have the wolves been here?" Jace asked casually.

Alec eyed Jace doubtingly. "Yeah, she's with them." Alec snorted, "She practically shot out like a bat out of hell when they got here. They were heading to her room to wake her and then there she was. If I didn't know better I'd say she's wired on a triple espresso."

Jace had nothing to say and only responded with a blank look.

"Whatever, man. Get your head out of la-la land, then get your ass in gear. We meet in the library," Alec shook his head and walked away.

Jace closed the door and stepped into the shower. He couldn't help thinking about Clary as the hot water caressed him. He had known the sex would be incredible, the way their every touch, every kiss possessed and inflamed him but he had not expected to find out so soon or to find out their bodies were made for each other. Even though she was so small, every part of her fit him perfectly. And as playful, flirtatious and passionate as she was, he had not been surprised that she was a virgin. It was as if their bodies knew they were meant to be together and once they were near each other, caution and reason evaporated, their bodies took control. Jace smacked his head against his hands. Jesus, he didn't use _anything_ and he was always on top of that. But, she did things to him, things that made it impossible to think straight. It struck him then. That had been precisely what Simon said, that he hadn't been able to think straight since her disappearance. Jace moved faster than he thought he ever had before, finished washing, dressing and was racing out of his room, water flying from his wet hair.

* * *

Clary was nestled between Luke and Simon, sitting on an old fashioned, Victorian style, upholstered couch in the library. She had woken next to Jace, her body humming as if it were an instrument that had been strenuously but expertly played over and over again. She allowed herself the luxury of lying there and watching his peaceful slumber. She wanted to touch him. She wanted to cover him with feather light kisses all over. She wanted to pretend they had forever, together, in his bed. And then she heard the distinct sounds of the groaning metal gates as the elevator doors opened. Her ears perked at the sound of footsteps down the long hallways and then voices. Luke! Simon! They were talking with Hodge who was escorting them into the library. They were asking about her! Where was she? Was she still asleep? At that moment Clary was consumed by abject terror. She wasn't sure why she was so afraid other than the sheer embarrassment of having them confronted with the knowledge she was not the little girl they knew. No, by all rights, she was a wanton hussy. She had not even thought about using some kind of protection although to be fair she was out of her mind and did not expect a long happy future for herself now that mission one was to waste Valentine, her father. Now was not the time for this! Now she had to get out there and convincingly play an innocent, pre-ravaged Clary for Luke and Simon's benefit. She found Jace's stele and quickly traced silence and speed runs on her ankles. She couldn't leave without one swift kiss below Jace's ear by his jawline and then she took off for her room. So now here she was, her head drooping onto Simon's shoulder, the adrenaline rush definitely fizzling out.

"Clary," Simon whispered. "We have to talk … alone."

Luke was talking with Hodge. They knew each other from their youth and conversed about days past, what they had been doing for all these years, but there was an underlying tension that kept them stiff and formal with each other.

"Where are the others?" Hodge voiced uncomfortably. He sat behind the large marble slab desk with the raven stationed at his shoulder.

"Isn't that Hugin? Valentine's bird?" Luke's eyes were fixed on the large raven. The raven seemed to return Luke's observation, bobbing its head.

"It's been with me since I was cast out of Idris," was Hodge's sole response.

"Can you excuse us for a few minutes?" Simon asked standing up and reaching out to pull Clary up.

"Why not?" Hodge replied, disgruntled. "We might as well wait for you two while we're waiting for everyone else."

"Be back in five minutes," Luke added. His gaze remained on Hodge and Hugin.

Simon and Clary stepped out of the library and walked to the end of the hallway where they sat on window seats, a view of the busy mid-day traffic and pedestrians below them.

Simon held Clary's hand and commanded her attention, holding her chin to face him. "Now tell me. Tell me what is going on with you and Jace."

Clary was startled by Simon's directness. He was not the same boy she had left more than six months ago but as she stared into his warm brown eyes she also knew he was still her best friend, someone she trusted and someone with whom she would always share so many happy childhood memories.

"I love him," she answered simply. There was nothing else to say.

Simon breathed in quickly, then exhaled long and slow. A turmoil of emotions swirled on Simon's face that Clary could not identify. She just sat and watched silently, her hand still in his, her face still cupped in his other hand and then his face smoothed into one expression that she could recognize, acceptance.

"You know, I always thought it would be you and me." He tenderly skimmed her cheek with his thumb. "But I can tell it's true. I could tell when I saw you two together at the station," Simon's voice broke and he closed his eyes. "I love you, you know," he said evenly. "Blondie better be good to you." Simon opened his eyes then and Clary was relieved. She could see he was hurt but there was no bitterness, no rejection of the friendship they had forged over a decade ago.

"I'm sorry, Simon," she turned her lips into his hand and kissed it. "I never knew."

"I guess," Simon shrugged, "it just wasn't meant to be." He inhaled then blew out through his mouth. "OK, Fray. I'll say this much for shadowhunters. They sure make them pretty." Simon stopped and smiled, "Just to be clear, I don't mean Jace."

"Oh, I'm sure I can find many, many people who would disagree with you there," Jace stood a slight distance away, looking surprisingly flustered considering his leisurely tone.

"Jace," Clary stood up as Simon let his hands fall away from her. She glided over to Jace and it was like a replay of the scene he had witnessed the night before. The two of them, staring at each other like there was nothing else to see, her hands on his waist, his hands around her back.

"I don't believe this," Simon got up, shaking his head. "Seriously, you two, let's get back to the library."


	16. Chapter 16 Library Conversations

Alec watched Clary circumspectly, standing back close to the library entrance. The rest of the group were seated in a circle around the large marble desk that Hodge perched behind. Just like the night before she was doing her damnedest to persuade them off a pursuit of Valentine and informing the Clave. He didn't doubt Valentine was dangerous, an infamous criminal who apparently faked his own death and evaded the Clave for as long as Alec had been aware of the man's history. He didn't doubt Clary's fears or concerns. She was shaking as she begged them to keep the Clave away. He just didn't like it. He was an adult shadowhunter now and the Clave would not easily forgive a grown shadowhunter's break from protocol. He looked over at Hodge. Hodge was their tutor since they lived at the NY Institute, so basically forever, and certainly more of an adult than him. But Hodge seemed unusually perturbed by the wolves' presence and did not have much to say, only occasionally nodding as Clary heatedly argued that they should find the cup and let her alone barter with Valentine. She was his child. She knew him. She could get him to agree to their conditions, free her mother, without bringing any of them under Valentine's notice. Of course nobody would agree to this, especially not Jace who was practically draped around her sitting next to her on a couch. Alec was beginning to wonder about Jace's sanity. Alec had seen Jace with girls before, lots of girls. They generally followed him around in a giggling horde and he always had an easy charm around them but a blatant take it or leave it attitude. Now, all he exuded was 'take it, take me please or I'll die.' Even he had more dignity than that, at least he really hoped he did. Alec looked up at the gold gilt clock sitting on top of a shelf behind Hodge.

"Clary, that's just not happening," Luke said sternly. "You may think you know Valentine but you've only been with him less than a year. If I know anything about that man, I know he's been less than forthcoming with you."

"Then tell me. Tell me what you know about him." Clary looked at Luke apprehensively.

"Yes, I will. You deserve to know the truth. All these years, your mother wanted to protect you but it didn't work." Luke looked sadly at Clary. "She loves you so much. You were … are her first priority. God, we'll get her back." He took Clary's hand. "But Clary, there's something I need to know. Who is Sebastian?" The look on Luke's face told Clary he already knew who Sebastian was. Clary wondered how much Luke knew about her parents. What was he to them? Valentine would not allow her to mention his name.

"I think you know," answered Clary. "He's my brother. His name is Jonathan."

Hodge rocked back on his seat abruptly sending Hugin up in the air. The bird took flight and flapped out of the room.

"That was Jonathan," croaked Hodge. "We thought he died."

"Yes, just like we thought Valentine was dead," Luke responded soberly.

"Why?" asked Simon. "Why would your brother hurt you?" He looked angry remembering how Jonathan had choked and beat Clary.

"I was only with Valentine for six months," Clary said softly. "Jonathan was raised by Valentine. He belongs to him. He is Valentine's weapon. When he found out I told Jace my name, he knew I couldn't keep up the ruse. He only acted out as Valentine would have him do."

"No," Simon replied firmly. "That was some personal shit. He wasn't just following orders. That asshole was really angry, like demented angry."

"He …," Clary began, "He's always been sort of strange about … what he expects from me." Clary stammered trying to reason it out in her own head.

"That nut job better not think about coming near you again," Jace pronounced menacingly, looking pretty furious himself.

"Jace," Clary looked imploringly at him, "he's my brother. Other than that … moment … he's always been good to me. He kept me sane all those months being … programmed by Valentine. If … if we can … if it's possible … I would save him too."

"Jocelyn," Luke broke in, "she needs to know. She's been mourning him all this time. That box … with the blonde hair …"

"Oh," rushed Clary, "that was his hair … Jonathan's. I always thought they were keepsakes of my father."

"You two don't really look alike," Izzy noted. "And Sebastian has black hair."

"It's called hair dye," Jace shook his head at her.

"So, he's a blonde?" Izzy continued. "That black hair really didn't work for him."

"Yeah, Iz, way to focus," Jace sparred.

Izzy screwed up her face at Jace then turned to say something to Alec. "Where's Alec?"

"He was right there," Jace answered nodding to the empty space by the library door.

"Really? Thanks. So helpful," Izzy rolled her eyes.

"Luke," Clary interrupted with a huff. "Now _you_ have something to tell. I need to know the truth."

Luke looked around at the assembled party and seemed to consider. "Are you sure you want to hash all of this out now? Maybe we should talk alone."

"It's OK, Luke," Clary squeezed her hand over Jace's. "We should all know what we're up against."

* * *

"So," Clary said resolutely, "my father is a lying bastard." Clary was grateful Jace had his arm around her. She felt dizzy after Luke explained his sordid history with Valentine. She tried to swallow but it felt like there was a giant lump growing in her throat. She turned her face into Jace's chest. How could she be so stupid? She knew his stories just didn't add up. She really believed he wanted to protect her mother, their family, but in truth her mother was trying to escape him. This made sense. Only an evil, lying, psychotic bastard could … hurt Jace. She would not consider the possibility that Jace would die. She would not let that happen. There had to be a reason that she had this gift with the runes. Why she was able to see the … possibility that Valentine would harm Jace. It had to be her destiny to stop Valentine, to end him and his horribly wicked plans. But she would need the cup. She had to lure him out with the cup.

It felt so good to snuggle into Jace's arms. It almost wiped away the shivering fear that they only had a short time together. She moved her head up and grazed his neck with her lips. She felt him stiffen but kept his arms firmly around her.

He lowered his head. "Baby, maybe you shouldn't do that right now. I really don't think your … Luke or Simon would enjoy that show," he whispered.

"Did you just call me Baby?" her head popped up and she couldn't keep the smile off her face.

Luke frowned. "Are you two … dating?"

"Sickening, isn't it?" Simon answered, his face flinching.

"Are you OK, Sweetcakes?" Izzy asked him reaching over to pat his arm.

"What did you call me?" Simon looked at her incredulously.

"Oh, it's nothing. That's just how we talk around here. Jace likes Baby. I like Sweetcakes." Izzy smiled.

"Uh. OK," Simon sputtered. " _You_ can call me that."

The library door swung open and Alec walked in. "We have some more company."

Behind him was Magnus Bane.


	17. Chapter 17 A Biscuit, A Task-et

"Well, well, well," Magnus drawled out, "It looks like somebody got her shadowhunter on."

Clary had unexpectedly jumped up offensively as if by reflex but her cool expression changed to perplexed wonder.

"You're a warlock," she answered. "My father told me warlocks are dangerous." Her brows knit together. "But then, he's a lying bastard." Her stance relaxed a little as Jace stood up and placed his hand around her waist.

Magnus sauntered in, a trail of flashing blue sparks lighting a trail behind him. "In this rare instance, Biscuit, I'm afraid he wasn't lying." Magnus turned quickly letting his black velvet cape billow out for maximum effect. "But I'm also gloriously fabulous. Doubt he mentioned that." He knew he kept the cape around for some reason.

Clary still had her face scrunched in. Clearly some deep thinking going in that precious little red head thought Magnus.

"Do I know you?" she asked bringing a hand up to her head as if to unclear the fog.

"I can't answer that but I can tell you I know _you_ and," Magnus let the smirk fall from his face, "I'm glad to see you … alive and well."

"That's Magnus Bane," Luke announced. "He's a good guy. Helps out a lot of Downworlders."

"I think gloriously fabulous is more fitting." Magnus nodded an acknowledgement to Luke with a slight bow.

"Magnus," Hodge cleared his throat. "What are you doing here?"

"I was in the area," Magnus replied, "visiting my … er … friend when I happened to hear you found Jocelyn's daughter." Magnus looked closely at Clary. "I had to see for myself."

"How do you know me?" Clary had her head cocked to the side, leaning against Jace's shoulder.

Magnus observed how their hips swayed into each other, the way Jace had his arm protectively around her waist and the way her own arm unconsciously coiled around Jace's waist.

"Girl, how did that happen?" Magnus fluttered his fingers between the two of them. " _You_ are a quick operator." He shook his head appreciatively. No one could tell if he was talking to Clary, Jace or both. "Well, no sense wasting time," Magnus shrugged. "That's always been my motto."

"Anywho," Magnus sank back on an armchair. "We go way back, Turnip."

"I think I prefer Biscuit." Clary looked amused.

"You always do," Magnus nodded his head fondly. "Has anyone explained … things to you?"

"Are you referring to my father's murderous, psychopathic tendencies?" Clary asked frowning.

"Ah, no. I meant did anyone explain how your mother tried to protect you, why you lacked the shadowhunter vision for most of your life."

"Well, Valentine guessed I had my mind wiped and Luke just told me my mother took me to a … warlock." Clary stopped speaking and fell back onto the couch taking Jace with her. "You have a cat, right?"

"Right, you are," Magnus was patting his hair. "That was me."

"So …," Clary looked confused. "Why are you here?"

Magnus turned his head to face Alec, lifted his brows and stuck his thumb out gesturing at Clary. "Will you get her? I think we've established I've known you most of your, albeit very young, life and I wanted to make sure you were OK. Excuse me for caring." Magnus' grin belied his words. "Besides I am the High Warlock of Brooklyn. That's a pretty big deal. I can help you."

Alec stayed by the door, leaning against a shelf but looked sympathetically at Magnus. "If you want to help her, she needs to find the Mortal Cup."

"Ah, Alec, as usual straight to the point. Love that about you." Magnus blew a kiss at Alec at which Alec proceeded to turn beet red.

Magnus turned back to Clary looking somewhat discomfited. "So, the Mortal Cup. What are you going to do with it?"

"Valentine wants it," Clary answered her voice cold steel. "He has my mother. I'm going to get her back," and kill him Clary completed in her thoughts.

"I'm not sure I'm following the logic," Magnus put a finger to his lips pensively. "You know your mother hid that cup to keep it away from Valentine. From what I hear she's knocked herself out so he can't force it out of her. Why in the world would you hand it over to him to get your mother back when she was willing to do anything to keep it out of his reach?"

Clary sat rigid, her fingers gripping her knees, her face tight. "Whether or not we use it to trade with Valentine, we should still find the cup before he does," she answered quietly.

Magnus watched her carefully. "OK, I can't argue with that but … I'm coming with you."

The room was silent for a beat before the shadowhunters all started talking at once.

"You can't be serious," Jace with one eyebrow lifted.

"Why are you getting involved? You can get hurt!" Alec with a stricken look.

"So now we're a shadowhunter-warlock team?" Izzy with a wicked grin.

"Are you going to charge us for this?" Hodge, his mouth turned down distastefully.

Then Clary spoke, "Going with us … where?" Her voice was still low but everyone else quieted at her words.

"Back to your apartment building," Magnus replied uncharacteristically serious. "There's a Madame Dorothea there we should visit."

"The old lady?" Jace said surprised. "She told me to come see her. I was planning to but then," Jace looked down adoringly at Clary, "I got distracted."

"How can she help? She's completely human," Alec confirmed decidedly.

Magnus looked thoughtfully at Alec. "Sometimes there's more beneath the surface than you can see." He turned to Jace. "And sometimes there's not."

Jace looked affably affronted. "I'll have you know I'm very deep. I read … a lot … and I play the piano," Jace's smile faded and his face turned serious as his eyes met Clary's, "and when I love, I love with every fiber of my being."

Magnus smirked, "I didn't say you weren't deep. I just meant some people wear their hearts on their sleeves."

Clary sighed and rested her head on Jace's shoulder, his arm around her, their eyes locked on one another.

"This is just the honeymoon phase, right?" asked Izzy exasperated. "They can't possibly keep this up. Can they?"

"Oh I fully intend to keep it up … forever and a day," answered Jace with a smile.

"Is that supposed to be romantic because it sounds lewd," Izzy remarked.

"Shut up. You know what I meant." Jace grinned. "And I'll prove it. Check back in as often as you want and you'll see nothing could change." Jace lowered his gaze down to Clary who continued to look up at him dreamily.

Izzy pulled out her phone and started taking photos of them.

"What are you doing?" Jace asked looking at Izzy cross-eyed.

"Capturing this moment for posterity," Izzy answered smoothly, "and to prove to you … it can't last. It never does."

"I … I think … maybe I'll sit out this visit to Madame Dorothea," Simon said falteringly.

Izzy seemed to reflect. "Do you want some company? We can just hang. I don't think Jace, Clary and Magnus will need me to visit an old lady."

Simon looked uncertain. "I'm not sure I'd be great company … You look like the kind of girl who … might have better things to do than hang with a mangy wolf."

"I offered, didn't I?" answered Izzy. "I don't do things I don't want to do."

Simon looked at her searchingly. "OK, then," he answered with a small smile.

Luke's phone began to buzz. He pulled it out of his pocket, looked at the number and answered it. "Yes, what is it? ... What!?"

Just then, Hugin returned, flying back to its customary station at Hodge's shoulder. The bird stroke its sleek head against Hodge's neck.

Luke ended his call, a horrified look on his face. "I've got to head back to the station. There's been a … massacre. Everyone at the station, a dozen wolves, dead."

Simon staggered. "Who? When? Why?" he asked as he slumped back into his chair.

"Gretchen, Rolf, Eric, Sandy, Bart, Daryl, Kim, Maia," Luke turned gray, "and others I didn't know well …"

"They're gone. You're certain? They can't be saved? They can't heal?" Simon's hands were shaking.

Clary got up and reached for both Luke and Simon's hands. "I'm so sorry. Of course we have to get down there. Find out what happened."

"Bat called me," Luke explained. "Seemed pretty convinced they're all gone … but he was losing it … Magnus, could you come with us? Maybe if anyone can be saved …?"

"Of course," Magnus did not hesitate. "I'll portal us to the station."

"Clary and Jace should go see this Madame Dorothea," Hodge spoke authoritatively. "Alec and Isabelle can accompany Lucian and Simon and deal with any necessary investigation."

"But I," Clary started.

"This doesn't change the fact you need to get that cup before Valentine," Hodge interrupted. "That is still urgent or did I misunderstand you?" Hodge stared directly at Clary.

"Luke, Simon," Clary turned to them uncertainly, "Do you want me to come with you?"

"No," answered Luke decidedly. "I don't want you to see more death and destruction that you have to. Go with Jace."

"Yeah," agreed Simon. "We'll be OK, Clary. You do what you need to do."

Magnus looked disturbed. "I'd prefer you wait for me."

"I don't like it," Alec chimed in. "You shouldn't go without me," he continued looking at Jace.

"That's enough," Hodge spoke testily. "You're shadowhunters. You don't do what's safe. You do what needs to be done to protect the peace."

No one responded but finally Alec and Jace nodded.

"Come on, Clary," Jace took Clary's hand to lead her out.

"Wait. Magnus," she turned to face him. "Valentine said my mother was enchanted into a suspended state by a warlock. Do you think that's true?"

"Maybe but it's more likely she took a potion to cast herself in that state," Magnus answered thoughtfully. "She once said something to me … the Book of the White was a family heirloom of sorts, passed down to her from generations past. It's a very powerful spell book and would quite plausibly contain the recipe to concoct such a potion."

"Please, Magnus," Clary said imploringly, "Help my mother. Help her wake up."

"I'm not sure what I can do without the Book," Magnus responded, "but I promise I'll do what I can."

"Thank you," Clary nodded. "I guess we have to get her back first anyway."

The shadowhunters filed out of the room to adorn their full gear and arm themselves.

Luke watched Clary leave and then turned back to face Hodge. "If something happens to her, I will come back for you," he said warningly.

Hodge shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "And why would I be answerable for that?"

"Because I don't trust you," Luke's eyes narrowed. "Because something about all of this doesn't add up and when I figure out what that is, you will hear from me."


	18. Chapter 18 A Reading with Dorothea

"Why haven't you shown me this before?" Jace whispered, marveling.

Jace and Clary stood in front of the shimmering portal that appeared after she drew the rune against the outer wall of the Institute. They had watched the others portal to the Chinatown wolf station that Magnus had opened and then Clary stopped Jace as he pulled her toward the subway. There had been a brief discussion with Magnus about sending Clary and Jace back to Brooklyn through their own portal but Magnus refused. He did not think it a bad thing for them to arrive at their destination a little later and maybe he could join them shortly after. Besides, he needed to conserve his energy for any magical life-saving cures that would hopefully need to be administered.

"We haven't really had much time to go over our life histories," she answered, her green eyes bright as she watched Jace.

"But how? Only warlocks can create portals." Jace frowned, his expression puzzled.

"I don't know. It's just something I can do. I can create new runes or maybe it would be better to say they're revealed to me." Clary turned back to the portal's silvery gray swirls. "We should go. It won't last much longer."

They clasped hands and stepped into the portal.

Clary landed in a tumble and stopped in a crouched pose across the street from the Brooklyn brownstone, almost the same spot where she had first met Jace and touched his hand. It amazed her that it felt as if so much time had passed, that she had loved Jace forever, when truly they had only known each other for a few days. She wondered if what Izzy had said was true. That this insane, overwhelming exhilaration she felt in his presence could not last. Some part of her knew that was fair but another part that resonated deep within her being told her that while the heady rush might subside, a more profound and genuine love would abide. She was here to find out what Dorothea knew, to see how this could lead to the cup but she felt an ache, wanting to forget everything in Jace's embrace, to feel his lean, hard body mashed against her, to feel him inside her. God, what did this mean? She was never really interested in boys before. She never kissed a boy before … her brother. Eww. But now that she had a taste of what it was like to be with Jace, to feel like they were one person, completely exposed to one another, she thought she may just be insatiable. She slowly got to her feet, turning her head to look for Jace. And there he was, just behind her and it seemed he remembered this spot just as she did, from the clouded, dreamy look in his eyes.

She moved to him and he straightened, opening up his arms for her. Her arms went around his waist and she rested her cheek to his chest while he placed his own head on top of hers. Both just stood there, breathing each other in. She felt his body tensing and somehow she knew he wanted to kiss her. She was about to lift her face for a kiss she was more than happy to bestow when a loud screeching sound of metal broke the moment and they pulled apart, hands ready to whip out blades, legs ready to vault their bodies against an attack. But the sound died away and neither could place its origin. It seemed to come from nowhere. Jace pulled out a sensor and studied the readings while his entire body remained alert.

"I'm getting something … but it's faint. Not sure what it could be." Jace look concerned.

"Come on," Clary urged. "Whatever it is, we can handle it. I've seen you take on demons with readings off the chart." She tried to be reassuring but she could feel her own uneasiness rising.

"OK. Let's go," Jace responded evenly, then gave Clary an encouraging smile. "Just follow my lead. No jumping ahead of me. Got it?"

"I wouldn't dream of going against your wishes." Clary gave him a sly smile. "Did you know you're adorable when you're ordering me around? God, that's pathetic. I may have to punch myself."

"Don't you dare." Jace grabbed her hand. "I've solemnly vowed to cut off the next hand that damages this perfect face." He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed each finger. "I really want to kiss your mouth but I'm pretty sure we'll never get anything else done and I don't think that's why we're here." He lifted an eyebrow questioningly.

"Always the voice of reason," Clary mocked. "Ok. You lead, I follow."

The walked into the building using an opening rune to unlock the front door.

"Now they fix that lock," Clary grumbled. "Owner's probably trying to prove how secure the place is after the upstairs tenants vanish without a trace."

"Enough yapping," Jace hushed. "That's Shadowhunter 101. Awareness is key. Awareness requires listening."

"You could shut me up with your mouth on my mouth," Clary pointed out helpfully.

Jace groaned and shook his head. "Stop that. It's hard enough fighting myself," he sighed.

Madame Dorothea chose that opportune moment to make her appearance as the door to her apartment swung open. "Are you just going to stand their whispering sweet nothings or are you coming in?" Then Dorothea seemed to realize one of said whisperers was Clary.

"Clary!" Dorothea grabbed onto her and gave her an enormous hug. "I haven't seen you in an age."

She pulled Clary away and proceeded to grab and squeeze her arms, legs, torso and stomach. "Dang, you've changed. Quite a bit. Wiry, little thing, aren't you?" Dorothea looked closely into Clary's eyes. "Clear enough. It's still you in there," she said affirmatively to herself then dragged Clary into her apartment with Jace following close behind.

Dorothea finally let go of Clary. "Sit, sit," she ordered pointing to the large cushioned armchairs placed around a small circular table. "I'll bring some tea, something to eat," she continued, disappearing through a heavy brocade curtain.

Jace seemed to thrum with uncontained energy as he swept around the room, scrutinizing everything.

"She might not appreciate that," Clary mentioned as Jace rifled through books, lifted framed pictures and finally landed on a deck of cards.

"Pretty pictures," he said offhandedly as he shuffled through the deck.

"Let me see," Clary requested, her eyes following Jace's rapid but graceful movement.

He picked a card from the deck and walked over to her with the remaining deck of cards in his other hand. The déjà vu that struck Clary took her breath away. She gasped when she saw the card, a golden bejeweled cup held up by long elegant fingers. Her mother had painted this card.

"That's it. That's the card," Clary spoke, suddenly afraid of what that meant, terrified that the vision had come true.

"Ah," Madame Dorothea returned with a pot of tea and a tray of finger sandwiches. "You've found the tarot cards. Your mother made them for me."

Dorothea set down the provisions on a side table then took the cards from Jace's hands and turned back to Clary. "Would you like a reading, dear?" There was a strange gleam in her eyes that made Clary a little reluctant. "Oh come on. I can tell your future will be fascinating," she prodded.

Jace said nothing, standing back watching Clary solicitously. He was shaken by her response to the card, didn't know what to make of it.

"OK," Clary nodded, "but I need one of the cards. It's very important. I promise to replace it."

Dorothea ruminated. "It will be difficult to do my readings missing a card but you'll replace it soon?"

"Yes, I'll do it myself. It will be an exact replica," Clary promised.

"Fine," Dorothea agreed, "Now, that reading." She settled down in an armchair opposite from Clary, held the deck, one hand on top, the other on bottom, then motioned for Clary to come forward. "Now, say your name into the cards."

"Is this normal procedure?" Jace asked curiously.

"I have my own ways," Dorothea answered without turning.

"Clary," voiced Clary.

"Your full name," Dorothea corrected.

"Clary Fr … Fair … Morg …," Clary stopped. She wasn't sure what her last name was anymore. "Does it matter?" she asked Dorothea.

"Of course it matters, dear," Dorothea looked astonished. "There are worlds of differences in a name. You know who you are. That's what matters."

Clary stayed quiet for a long moment. Who was she? She had been Clary Fray for more than fifteen years of her life, but it had been a false life. Then she learned she was Clary Fairchild, her mother's daughter, a shadowhunter. And then, Clary Morgenstern, Valentine's daughter, his child to hone for his purposes and follow his commands.

"Clarissa Adele Fairchild," she finally answered into the cards. It felt like the words spilled out, her breath smoky in the chilled air.

"Now, how did it get so cold in here?" Dorothea pulled up her shoulders. "Take the cards, cut them for as many years as you have lived" she instructed Clary.

Clary did as she was told, then moved her hands over her own shoulders, her teeth chattering a little. It was unusually cold. Jace came over to her and moved to unzip his gear jacket.

She turned to stop him, her hands over his. "Jace. No. Stop trying to protect me."

He looked at her skeptically. "Are you kidding me? How could I do that? That's like asking me to stop caring about my heart, my soul."

She returned his skeptical look. "I don't want to see you shivering your butt off under some misguided chivalry."

"I'm not even cold," he returned, "and I thought you might enjoy seeing me shake my a—"

"It's rare, what you two have," Dorothea cut in, watching them both as if they were some fascinating new breed of creatures. "Most people never know what you have. And so young." She looked a little regretful.

Dorothea seemed to shrug off the sentiment that had briefly overpowered her and went back to the business of card reading. She handled the cards in expert fashion and started laying them out on the table facing Clary. A line appeared between her brows and deepened as she continued to unfurl the cards.

"You will have a great love … It will change you irrevocably … it will give you strength … and …," Dorothea stopped, the line cleared from her brows, her eyes wide. "Clary, you are in danger. From an unexpected source." Dorothea gripped Clary's hands, her eyes boring into Clary's. "He doesn't want it. Do you understand me? You will destroy him."

Clary pulled away. "What do you mean?"

Dorothea slumped into her chair, her lids halfway down her eyes. "What did you say?" she asked groggily.

"Is this for real?" Jace had placed his hands on Clary's shaking shoulders and eyed Dorothea dubiously. "What kind of fortune was that?"

"I'm sorry, sometimes that happens … something takes over and then that's it. I can't remember the reading or what was said," Dorothea looked glumly down at the cards.

"Can't you just reread them?" Jace asked looking at the cup card that had been laid out at the center of the table.

"No, none of it makes sense to me now," Dorothea continued looking more disappointed.

"That's OK," Clary said quietly. "I think we better go now. I'll take the card, bring back a replacement as soon as I can."

Clary pushed back her chair and slowly stood up. The temperature in the room warmed and seemed back to normal. She picked up the card she needed and stared at it long and hard, trying to figure out how it would guide them to the actual cup.

"So, we have what we need?" Jace was still perplexed by the importance of the card.

"Yes, for now." Clary turned to him and slid the card into an inner chest pocket. She could feel the outline of the stiff board and it felt heavier placed against her breast.

"Be careful, Clary," Dorothea remained frustrated and sat unmoving in her chair.

"Hey, what's this door?" Jace asked. He had resumed a more discreet search over Dorothea's apartment and pointed to a door behind another curtain.

"That's strange," Clary answered a bit baffled. "This apartment seems to have the same layout as the one upstairs. There shouldn't be a door there."

Jace was about to open it when Dorothea shot up and rushed to the door, keeping it shut with a firm plant of her not inconsiderable weight. "Haven't you ever heard curiosity killed the cat?" She gave Jace a warning look.

"What are you hiding?" Jace was all business now, the flippancy in his earlier tone completely gone.

Dorothea sighed heavily. "It's a portal. The only permanent one in New York, except for Renwick's."

"How do you have this?" Jace released his hold on the knob.

"My mother was a warlock," Dorothea explained. "She adopted me, taught me, wanted me to carry on her legacy. She created the fixed portal and warded this building … but it wasn't infallible." Dorothea's expression turned nervous. "I'm a little worried about it now," she continued pointing her head to the door. "They shouldn't have been able to find this place … I don't know have safe it is anymore."

"Keep it shut. We'll ask Magnus to come check it out," Jace replied gravely.

Clary and Jace made their way out of the building and stood outside. Neither said a word, deep in their own thoughts. Clary would need some time alone with the card. She knew it was the key to the cup, she just didn't know how and … the reading had rattled her. She needed some time to think that over too. There was something there that was important, that she just hadn't been able to unravel … yet. She felt Jace's hands move around her and she let her mind clear. This was enough, for now, and it felt wonderful to feel him, smell him, pretend she could hide her own small frame in his.

"Jace … Let's go back to the Institute," she breathed into him, letting her lips find that perfect place on his neck as she wound her arms around him.

His embrace intensified and she raised her head to take his mouth, his tongue sliding in, their bodies moving to fit into the other. The kiss changed slowly from its vigorous, all-consuming, burning desire and ended gently, his lips lingering, then nibbling on her lower lip that pulled out in a pout.

Jace let his head rest against her forehead, moving it back and forth, and murmured, "We've got to use our heads. Can't keep losing control this way."

"Move away from her, Jace," Jonathan stood a short distance away. His hair was back to its natural white blond and the breeze had blown it out like a blazing silver fire around his face. His voice and bearing were composed, but his face was ashen and he held the Morgenstern sword, Phaesphoros, in a grip so tight his knuckles had completely blanched.


	19. Chapter 19 Lunatic Fringe

**This is dedicated to ReadingIsMyReality. Love your enthusiasm.**

* * *

Clary instinctively whirled away from Jace. She knew Jonathan did not like seeing them together. The memory of his unflinching hand on her throat, squeezing breath and life out of her, his brutal blow to her face, came rushing back. And then she saw Jonathan, really saw him. She wanted to see the brother who had cared for her, held her, encouraged her. The one who looked at her tenderly, lovingly. No, there was no trace of that Jonathan. This Jonathan looked like an avenging wraith, his black eyes cold and glittering. His black gear shined in the fading light. It was wet, slick with blood. He had been busy, doling out death and destruction.

"My God, Jonathan," Clary exclaimed. "Did you … were you at the wolf station?"

The tension in the air was stifling. She could feel Jace, straining, poised to strike and from the corner of her eye she could see the glow of seraph blades that he had no doubt readied for action. She had not pulled out any weapons but she was prepared to engage, her fingers only inches from the blades hidden in her gear, her body in position to attack.

Jonathan was not concerned about being outnumbered. While his hold on Phaesphoros remained firm, he stood casually, leaning back on one leg.

"There were some wild dogs I had to put down. They dared to bare their fangs at me," Jonathan responded disdainfully, "and it looks like there may be more scum I need to clear."

"Jonathan, why are you doing this?" Clary shuddered.

"That lowlife has been groping you from the moment you met," Jonathan's cutting eyes went up and down Clary. "I'm defending your honor and teaching him his place," Jonathan sneered.

"Now that's just uncalled for," Jace spoke smoothly. "All this name calling. I, for one, choose a more mature approach. I'm not going to mention you're a warped pile of shit. I'm just going to cut you up into little pieces."

Jonathan smiled then, a bone chilling smile that scared Clary more than any of his words.

"Let's do this, then," Jonathan hissed and sprang at Jace.

Clary stood frozen, stunned by how fast they moved. She could barely make out their forms. Only when their weapons clashed, could she make out a trace of their images stilled for an infinitesimal moment. She realized then that the incredible fighting prowess she had previously witnessed from them both had been only a fraction of their full abilities. Clary wanted to scream, tell them to stop, but her shadowhunter training would not permit her. It commanded her to watch and wait. The right moment would present itself and then she would execute.

* * *

Jonathan wanted to laugh. This was fun. As much as he had disparaged Jace to his father, he was probably the best opponent he had ever faced. They were almost evenly matched in speed, strength, agility, but he could sense Jace was weakening, using up too much too fast, whereas Jonathan was in complete control of every movement, every attack, every block. Jace had drawn first blood, a mere flesh wound, but it was enough to force Jonathan to focus. Jonathan had always enjoyed the brawl, the invincible feeling that surged over him. This was better. Not that there was ever any doubt he would be victorious but the challenge was quite stimulating. Jonathan was almost rueful when he perceived Jace's heavy breathing. He was slowing. Jonathan grinned maniacally. He knew Jace would render one last furious assault and then he would finish him. It wasn't easy dodging the tempest of twisting blades, the light of the seraphs creating a blazing, slashing tunnel, but he managed with only a few nicks and scratches, and then it was his turn. Jonathan unleashed his own spins and jumps, darting all around Jace and was surprised when Jace handily deflected his skewering, steel strikes. But there was no question, Jace was waning. He stumbled as he sidestepped one of Jonathan's attacks and suffered a gaping gash to his right arm, causing him to drop the seraph that he held in his hand. Jonathan lifted the hilt of his broad sword and delivered a crushing blow to the back of Jace's head. Jace fell to the floor, his head bowed, his body struggling to rise. Jonathan moved swiftly over him, raising the sword directly over Jace's head. He would finally remove the smug expression off the wretch's face.

Suddenly he was careening away from Jace, something propelling him, his body slamming to the ground. Clary. Clary was on top of him. She was on his shoulders, pummeling him with her fists, her elbows, her knees. He tried to grab her, throw her off, but she was too quick. She kept clear of his reach but continued bashing his head with her heavy boot clad feet. Impossible. She had the upper hand. He felt himself succumbing to a bottomless, black void. He flailed his hand out clawing at what he could not see and finally he grasped a leg. He pulled at it fiercely. He heard her cry out and felt her collapse over him and then … and then she was choking him. She had his head locked in an unyielding chokehold. He could do nothing. He could feel consciousness dissipating and he was glad. He always knew she was his match. He didn't know if she would kill him but he had been right about her. They were one. They completed each other. Only she could ever defeat him.

* * *

Clary released Jonathan's limp form and untangled herself from his long limbs. He had twisted her knee. It hurt but she could still move. She staggered over to Jace. He had lost consciousness just before her brother was about to behead him. She felt numb. All she knew was that she had to protect Jace. She had to take care of him. She had to save him. Nothing else mattered. She gently wiped the golden hair, damp with sweat, that had fallen over his eyes and pulled out her stele. She was drawing the healing runes on his supine form, at the base of his neck, when she felt the blinding blow to her own head and fell over Jace, the stele rolling out of her hand.

Valentine stood above the melee, regarding his son's inert body, then his eyes drifted to Clary and Jace. Clary lay on top of him, her arms spread over him as if to shield him. He was a little vexed that Jonathan had been bested. It was unaccountable but he was also glad it was his own daughter who had managed this unprecedented feat. He collected the three bodies around him and considered cleaning up the mess - blood, smashed car windows, dented car frames, overturned trashcans. It would attract undue attention. But then, a portal appeared a few yards away and unwelcome intruders emerged. That disgusting Downworlder filth, Lucian, appeared, another odious werewolf youth, the Lightwood brats and a weary looking warlock. Valentine twisted the silver ring on his finger and disappeared with his brood.

* * *

"Did you see that?" Simon asked turning frantically to the others. "Was that …"

"Valentine," Luke finished grimly. "Goddamn it!" Luke shouted, his hands on his head. "He's got Clary again."

"And Jace," Alec worried. "What does he want with Jace?"

"Magnus," Isabelle pulled on his shirt. "Can you do something? Can you find them?"

Magnus placed his hands over Isabelle's. "Darling, that's an Alexander McQueen silk shirt. Now I know it seems I have endless reserves of power, but really I can barely make another portal. I think the first thing you should do is collect some of Jace and Clary's personal belongings to track them. Then we'll all meet back at my loft."

"I've got something," Simon said softly. He pulled a fist out of his pocket. Then opened his hand to display a lock of red hair tied in a dark green ribbon.

"Whatever you're thinking, don't say it," Simon said solemnly, his eyes on the ground.

"That will work just fine," Magnus took the lock from Simon's hand and put it in his own breast pocket. Now the rest of you, find something personal that belongs to Jace."

"Can't we just track Clary?" Luke asked agitated. "Valentine took both of them. Shouldn't they be at the same place?"

"Not necessarily," Magnus replied. "We don't know what his plans are and we don't know the full extent of his abilities."

Magnus was exhausted. It had been heavy work at the station. At least he had been able to save a few of the wolves, very few, but they had been close to death and it required a great deal of energy to revive them. One of them, Gretchen, had managed to tell them it was the shadowhunter who had vanished in front of the wolf station, the one who hurt Simon and Clary, but he looked different. The black tresses were replaced by white. He said he had returned to teach the degenerates what happened to anyone who came between him and his sister. After disabling the pack, he strolled over to each of the fallen wolves and plunged his black silver sword into their hearts. He was making his way to Gretchen when he suddenly straightened, nodded his head as if someone spoke to him and immediately dashed out.

"We've got to get back to Clary," Luke had grown anxious now that they knew Jonathan did not mean to be kept apart from her.

And now they were here and too late. Magnus knew he needed a few hours of rest. He could feel his legs buckling when he felt his arm lifted over Alec's strong solid shoulders, Alec's arm snug around Magnus' waist.

"Come on. I'm taking you home," Alec demanded. "We're taking a cab," he said as Magnus attempted to lift a hand and weave a portal. "And you're taking some of my strength. You still need to rest but you need that too and I'm not taking no for an answer."

Magnus looked into Alec's dark blue eyes. They were clear, unwavering and beautiful. "OK, Alec. Let's go."

"Izzy," Alec turned to his sister. "Find something to track Jace."


	20. Chapter 20 Valentine's Day

Valentine watched Jace attentively. He had placed him on the bed, drew the iratzes on his arm and at the nape of his neck, cleaned him and dressed him in some fresh clothes. After transporting the group back to his traveling apartment, he steered it to Wayland Manor. It would be best to introduce Jace to his new reality at his childhood home, a place where past sentiment would influence and remind Jace that Valentine's will was law. He considered how he would approach his adopted son. In truth, he felt more filial affection for this golden haired boy than for his own true blooded son.

Was it the fascination and wonder that shined in the boy's sunbeam eyes when they sat over the ancient texts, studied the runes or learned a new concerto that warmed his heart? The boy's enthusiasm as they traveled around the world, visiting the celebrated mundane monuments, had been uplifting and dragged him away from his usual morose reflections. Or was it the way the child's face lit up at the sight of him and how he was not always able to contain his affections, running to and embracing Valentine after a long separation? And yet he had made the decision to leave the boy. Valentine knew the truth to his mantra, 'To love is to destroy, to be loved is to be destroyed.' He could not continue to foster this love and conquer the Clave. Love would only weaken his resolve and the boy was always questioning, always searching for the good in every expedition.

But now it was different. Now he was so close to realizing his plans, he could taste it. He had found the card with the cup in Clary's gear. The one they had seen in the runed vision. He didn't know how it would bring him the cup but he could feel it. After so many years of experimentation, he had certain senses and abilities that did not come naturally to a shadowhunter. It only proved his dominance over all of them. And he had other plans for the cup. Plans that he had not even shared with Jonathan. He had forged an alliance with the greater demon, Azazel, Prince of Hell, and of course Lilith would help. She had grown attached to Jonathan. Her investment to beget her own child was a heavily forged link between them. She wanted Jonathan to rise and sire a new line of her own descendants. Valentine wondered how she would react to Jonathan's intended vessel. He suspected Lilith would not care it was his own sister but he felt certain she would not favor a partner for her son doubly blessed by the Angel. Anyway, it mattered not. Valentine had no intention of permitting Jonathan's passion. Aside from the potential genetic mutation that could arise from such a union, he wanted to bind Jace to his cause and he knew his relationship with Clary would be crucial to that effect. As he watched Jace's chest rise and fall with breath, he knew Jace would make a formidable ally. Jace had not yet fully come into the full scope of his own special talents and he wanted his adopted son back. He was the only person who freely gave Valentine his trust and love, who had not turned his back on him or left him. Of course, he prized Jonathan. Jonathan would ruthlessly and meticulously enforce his will but it seemed Jonathan had no love to impart on his father. Valentine had a nagging thought. Did Jonathan love Clary? No, that was inconceivable. He lusted after her. It was the demon perversion that swayed Jonathan's infatuation with his own sister.

As if in answer to his thoughts, Jonathan entered the room. The injuries to his head were healed but for some unexplainable reason he chose to keep the ring of bruises around his neck. He had showered and dressed in a loose button down black shirt and slacks. Valentine was glad to see Jonathan's impassive, expressionless face. He wanted to believe Jonathan was back to his normal self.

"What are you doing to him?" Jonathan asked nodding his head at Jace. "And why hasn't he woken yet?"

"I applied a sleeping rune," Valentine indicated the wavy lines of a rune on Jace's forearm. "I needed some time to deliberate."

"Why?" A crease formed on Jonathan's brow. "Why should you care what you say to him? Either do what we say or die. Isn't that the gist?"

"Jonathan, you should always practice finesse with everything you do or say," Valentine lectured. "And I've told you. I want him to join us. He is powerful and his skills will continue to grow."

"Will he overtake me?" Jonathan asked speculatively.

"No," Valentine answered quickly although inwardly he was not so sure. "He will always be second to you."

"I don't want him around Clary," Jonathan's eyes narrowed with resentment. "You should see the way he mauls her. It's repulsive."

Valentine returned Jonathan's black gaze and responded, "Go check on Clary. Let me know when she wakens from her sleeping rune. There are many things I need to discuss with her. And make sure she is adequately restrained. I would not have her causing havoc attempting to escape."

Jonathan lowered his head in submission and left the room.

The door clicked shut just as Jace abruptly sat up, his expression distraught. His eyes jumped wildly around the room then he jerked back in astonishment when he perceived Valentine.

"Father," his shocked countenance was accompanied by a low whisper, "How?"

"Jonathan," Valentine responded. "Or do you prefer Jace? There is much to discuss."

He placed a heavy hand on Jace's shoulder. "I'm glad to see you again, son. I've … missed you."

The amazement in Jace's face transformed to distress. "Clary! Where is she?!"

"Do not fear. I have her. She is safe," Valentine informed him soothingly.

"Can I see her? Where is she?" Jace asked panicked.

"She's still resting," Valentine placed both hands on Jace's shoulders to keep him down. "I've brought you something to eat. Recuperate. You will rejoin her shortly."

The stiffness in Jace's body eased slightly, enough that Valentine felt he could release his hands. He uncovered a tray with a bowl of broth and a cheeseburger by the side of the bed.

"You always enjoyed a good cheeseburger. I hope that hasn't changed," Valentine attempted to interject a lightness to their discourse.

"I saw you die," Jace answered in a distant tone.

"As you can see, I survived," Valentine responded. "I'm sorry to have distressed you. I'll explain everything and then you will understand."

Jace grew agitated again, "Where is he? Where is that crazy fu—"

"Jace," Valentine spoke firmly. "That's enough. Control yourself. All will be explained but first do as you're told. Eat, prepare yourself. I will come back for you and escort you to her."

Jace's eyes turned stony. "You guarantee her safety?"

Valentine knew then that his calculations were spot on. Jace would be only too easy to control once he had Clary at hand. "Of course. I guarantee it. No harm will come to her … as long as you listen to me."

Valentine was a bit astounded that Jace was so completely enthralled by the girl and even Jonathan was temporarily delusional about her. And yet … she was her mother's daughter and he could remember a time when he himself had been similarly captivated. He shook his head to disperse such needless thoughts.

Valentine got up and left the room, taking one last look at Jace who stayed seated on the bed. The boy had courage, strength, understanding and he wore them like a righteous armor but Valentine knew his weakness.

* * *

Clary awoke to the light touch of callused fingers gently caressing her cheek.

"Jace," she murmured and the hand stilled on her face. Then she felt nothing. She blinked her eyes open and she smiled weakly at the blurred vision of a blonde haired boy. The smile disappeared has her sight cleared. Clary tried to move away but alarmingly found she could not budge. She tried to speak but her mouth would not open. Her heart was hammering fiercely when Jonathan leaned over, his face only inches from hers. He craned his neck forward and unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt, pulling it down to fully reveal his throat.

"You did this," he said softly, his fingers grazing the ugly discolored bruises around his neck. "You conquered me," he smiled sweetly.

He sat straight and took her in thoughtfully. "You're probably wondering why you can't move."

Jonathan lay back on the bed next to Clary, pushing her over to make room so they lay side by side. He pushed his arm below her so that her head rested against his shoulder. She could not see his face.

"There are runes that immobilize. You know that," he continued dismissively. "We should never have gone to the Manhattan Institute," he vented, angry now. "We didn't need him. Completely superfluous. We would have found the card without him."

Jonathan turned to his side and looked down at her. Clary wondered if he could see how desperately she wanted to cringe away from his touch.

"I'm sorry," Jonathan's mood had changed again, now repentant. "I should never have touched you, hit you. That was wrong." He leaned down and lowered his lips to meet hers. It was the barest brush but everything inside her revolted against him. She struggled to move, do something, anything.

"Your heart's about to race out of your chest. Calm down," Jonathan whispered. "I'm not going to hurt you. I love you."

He gazed fervently into her eyes. His black eyes were endless pools that she felt herself submerging in, his eyes so dark the pupils could not be distinguished from the irises rimmed in silver. Jonathan moved slowly, covering her body with his, keeping his weight off her with his hands placed on either side of her. Then he brought his face down into her hair, his own locks pressed against the side of her face, tickling her cheek. Clary could only move her eyes and as she strained to move her body, her eyes rolled as far away from Jonathan as she could manage hoping this effort would somehow make a difference. The door opened. Clary could not believe she was actually glad to see Valentine.

Valentine looked annoyed. "Jonathan, get off your sister."

Clary felt Jonathan's body tense above her and he seemed to press his face down further, smothering himself in her hair. Then he shifted off her, swift and smooth and stood directly in front of his father, their eyes level.

"Leave us," Valentine commanded, his eyes and tone icy.

"Father," Jonathan answered with a quick nod and then turned to Clary, "Clary," his voice soft and affectionate. Jonathan strode out of the room and Valentine shut the door after him. Valentine seemed distracted as he stood unmoving by the door, looking at Clary. His gaze eventually cleared and he walked over to her with his stele out. He traced a small rune by her collarbone and Clary could feel a warmth rising up her neck and then the muscles in her throat and face.

"Where is Jace?" her voice cracked.

A tiny smirk appeared on Valentine's face. "He's fine. You'll see him soon. I assume you'll want to clean up first."

Clary was still in the gear she wore to Madame Dorothea's and felt grimy from her exertions during her furious assault on Jonathan.

"What do you want? Why have you brought us here?" she asked her father coldly.

"Is that any way to address your father?" Valentine replied mildly but Clary could hear the warning in his voice. "You're here to serve me. You both are. You should know that."

"You lied to me," Clary answered heatedly. "My mother wants nothing to do with you. You would destroy innocent lives. You're deranged and sick. I will never serve you again," she spit out.

Valentine's black eyes sparked with anger but he made no move towards her. "So, you leave me no choice, then. I will dispose of Jace."

"What do you mean?" Clary cried, "You said you loved him. How could you hurt him?" She felt tears rising in her eyes as the image of the sword deep in Jace's chest rose in her mind.

"I require your services. If you won't cooperate, I have no need for him." Valentine's eyes were resolute. She could not doubt he was fully capable of carrying out his words.

"What do you want from me?" she relented, the tears streaming down her face.

"You will do as I say, without any argument," Valentine instructed. "And you will obtain the cup."

He pulled out the card, brandishing it above her. "I know this card is the key. You will study it and use your gifts to get me the cup. I will not wait long."

"Please," Clary begged. "Please let him go. I'll do whatever you ask. Just release him."

Valentine watched her disapprovingly. "No, I think not. You'll do as I bid and you will be happier that he's here," he finished condescendingly. "Now, I will release the binds but do not mistake me. If you give me any cause to regret my trust, Jace will pay for your error. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, I understand, father," she answered meekly.

Valentine waved his left hand fluidly and Clary could feel her limbs again. As she bent her joints and stretched she watched Valentine warily.

"How did you do that without a rune?" she questioned controlling the tone of her voice to respectful curiosity.

"I have many abilities you know nothing of and it will serve you to keep that in mind," Valentine responded. "Now get washed and change into clean clothes. When I return for you we will go to Jace and I must insist that you say nothing until I allow it. Do you understand?"

"Yes, father." Clary kept her head down.


	21. Chapter 21 Valentine's Plan

Clary had finished showering and dressed quickly. She was anxious to see Jace but it seemed Valentine would keep her waiting. He had left the card on the desk. He had not left a stele. She wondered how he planned to allow her to use her "gifts" without a stele. He must know she would portal away once she could secure Jace. He would have planned to prevent that eventuality. She wondered how much time he would grant her to unlock the mystery of the card. He said 'not long' but what did that mean? How long could she delay? What did he plan to do with the cup? She knew there were no boundaries to his heinous plans but she also knew she would do anything to keep Jace alive.

She picked up the card reluctantly and was struck by how strangely heavy it felt. It was not any more difficult to lift than any of the other cards in Dorothea's tarot deck but there was an otherworldly weight to it that she could not describe. If only she could explore her mother's memories, knew what she knew, possessed the knowledge that was lost in her mother's unconscious mind. It was then that she felt the cool blankness she had encountered twice before wiping out her sight. A new rune appeared. This one burned from a red flame and she could see that the shape of the flames were itself a part of the rune's design. The bright red was … different but then it charred away into the customary black lines of any rune. She would need a new blank card, some paints. She had made a promise to Dorothea which she felt compelled to keep and she knew without a doubt she would be able to fulfill it.

* * *

Valentine entered Clary's room and was pleased to see her sitting diligently at the desk, the card in her hand.

He was about to ask her how she fared when she looked up quickly and said, "I will need a stele, cardstock and some paints."

Valentine nodded his accord. He could see she was on the verge of something. "You will have everything you need but first we must meet Jace. You are only there to listen. When I am done speaking you may have some time alone with him."

The way Valentine looked at her then made Clary's skin crawl. If she didn't know any better she would suspect he knew how intimate they were. Of course, how would he know that? How could he know that? As the questions formed in her mind, she felt nauseous. She truly did not know what he knew or how he came about his information.

"Is that what you're wearing?" he asked critically.

Clary was too stunned to respond. He had never shown any interest in her attire before. She looked down to examine what she had thrown on, a simple pair of grey leggings and a long sleeved scoop neck white cotton shirt. She actually had not known what she had pulled on from the dresser and did not see anything wrong with what she wore, unless he was planning to pit her in a fighting match.

"Shall I change?" she asked puzzled.

"Yes, put on something … flattering," Valentine answered sharply. "A dress. Something that would make you appear at your best."

Valentine stepped back, out of the room and shut the door to allow her to change.

Clary frowned, completely confounded by his request. Why should she dress up? What was the occasion? She could hardly imagine they had anything to celebrate, that they would be attending some party. Valentine was dressed casually enough in his usual dark slacks and shirt although his clothing always looked expensive and custom tailored. She moved back to the closet realizing it was futile trying to make sense of Valentine's commands. She would know when he allowed her to know. There really wasn't anything she would consider "dressy" in the closet. She guessed Valentine had picked out the clothing for her. They were almost entirely feminized versions of his own dark wardrobe. But then, at the back she found a long gold satin dress. It seemed way too formal to wear and she vaguely remembered from one of her tutoring sessions with Valentine that gold was the color for a bride. She thought it odd he would have chosen such a dress for her but there really was nothing else.

* * *

Valentine said nothing when he returned to the room. Clary sat by the vanity above her dresser. She had found some makeup, a brush and hair ornaments in a small chest and applied some light shadow, eyeliner, mascara and gloss on her lips. She was fixing rosebud hair combs to keep her red curls away from her face when she observed Valentine behind her. She could not read his reaction. His mouth was slightly open, his eyes a little wider than she had seen on him before. She placed her hands down and turned to face him.

"Am I suitable?" she asked and stood before him.

He put his hands on her shoulders then bent down and kissed the top of her head. This was so totally unexpected, Clary could not stop staring at him, her mouth agape.

"You are lovely," he answered and abruptly dropped his hands. "Now, follow me and remember what I said earlier. You say nothing until I allow it."

Clary could see the shutters come down his eyes. They were void of any feeling or emotion. For a brief moment, when he had first entered the room and looked at her she felt like … something precious, treasured … she could imagine in that moment how her mother had loved him. She guessed she must have reminded him of her mother for those brief seconds and now she was the daughter he … despised? She knew he had no true regard for her.

She followed Valentine out of her room. She had to move quickly to keep up with his long gait but this was something she had grown accustomed to during her many months of training although it was more difficult with the swathe of satin clinging to her legs and the heeled golden sandals she discovered in the back of the closet. Even in these circumstances, she could not help the tingle of excitement at the prospect of seeing Jace again. They had hardly been separate long but every moment away from him was painful. Valentine swung around a corridor and proceeded through a wing of the manor that she had not encountered before. There had always been certain areas on the estate that she had not been permitted to explore. Actually, she had only been allowed to visit a few select areas: the wing housing her room, Jonathan's room and Valentine's library, the training room, kitchen, dining room and garden. She had been confined to those areas and had not been at liberty to question why. The few times she had attempted to roam somewhere new, Jonathan or Valentine would always appear and lead her away.

A large window at the end of the wing spread a warm yellow light through the hallway. Valentine stopped at the door at the end of hall, closest to the window. Clary watched him as he stood motionless in front of the door. He didn't seem to be doing anything but standing there but Clary realized his eyes were closed and he took long, slow breaths. Was he composing himself? It seemed unlike the man, always so assertive and self-assured. Did he forget she was there, observing him? He seemed to hear her thoughts when he opened his eyes and threw an ominous cast at her.

He knocked on the door, two quick raps, then waited. Clary continued to watch astounded that he was actually waiting for an invitation to pass through. He had never afforded her such dignity. It didn't matter if she was barely dressed. He would sweep in as if he owned the place and her. The door opened and there was Jace. His expression was dull as his eyes met Valentine's and stepped back to allow him entrance. She walked in behind Valentine and felt a mounting anxiety when Jace did not even look at her or acknowledge her presence. She was about to reach out to him when Valentine swung around and glared at her, his left hand down at his side but clearly signaling her to step away. She stayed quiet and moved to a far wall that Valentine had motioned to her with his head.

"Where is Clary?" Jace asked.

"I promise you will see her momentarily but first, there are things to discuss," Valentine replied.

Jace couldn't see her. She looked down at herself to see if she had in fact vanished. No, she could clearly see the gold satin dress, the outline of her legs, the tips of her sandaled toes peeking out at the hem, the arms she flung out in front of her to confirm she was still there. Another one of Valentine's tricks, not a glamour, something else. Something even a shadowhunter could not see past.

Still, it was good to see Jace. He was healthy. He had been healed. His hair was damp from a recent shower, the golden hair at the nape of his neck, curling out. He was as beautiful as ever but the light in his eyes had dimmed. He knew he had to be cautious around Valentine. She wondered what Jace had been told. Whether he still thought Valentine was Michael Wayland.

"You need to know. I'm not Michael Wayland," Valentine announced.

Well, apparently he hadn't told Jace yet. Jace stood frozen, his eyes widening.

"Michael Wayland was a shadowhunter I knew. When he died, I took his identity … to keep us safe," Valentine explained. "Sit down, Jace."

Jace sat back on his bed, his eyes round, speechless.

"I am Valentine Morgenstern."

Jace made a strangled sound, his face horrified.

Valentine gave him a peculiar knowing look. "I am your father. I raised you since birth but I did not father you."

Jace shook a little and the rigidity in his body slackened. Clary understood then. Jace had thought _they_ were brother and sister. Just the idea of it horrified her as well. She was grateful Valentine had quickly explained this truth to him.

Your birth parents were Stephen and Celine Herondale. Stephen died only days before you were born. You know a shadowhunter's life is fraught with peril. You must live each day as if it is your last. Celine, your mother, could not fathom life without her beloved. She … took her own life … but I saved you before you could perish with her. Stephen and Celine were trusted and important members of my Circle. I would do anything to preserve you, their legacy."

Clary was amazed at this new version of Jace's origin. She suspected it was closer to the truth than what he had told her. Clary wondered what Valentine was trying to accomplish. Did he truly believe he could win Jace over, knowing what they all knew about him, his destructive path to dominate all of them and the wholesale slaughter of anyone who stood in his way?

Jace remained silent but the hard look on his face was answer enough for Clary. She feared for him. If he did not capitulate to Valentine's terms, he would die but Jace was the best person, the best shadowhunter she knew and she knew he would not agree to join Valentine's reincarnated Circle.

"I raised you for the sake of Stephen and Celine but I loved you as my son. I still do. I'm sorry I had to leave you but I knew you would be in the best hands with the Lightwoods. They have their faults but they are among the oldest and exalted shadowhunter familes. I knew you would be safe away from Idris. I did not want a life of running and hiding for you. A life that Jonathan and I could not escape." Valentine was seated across from Jace on a chair placed in front of a desk. He did not seem to have any more to say to explain Jace's upbringing.

Jace apparently came to the same conclusion. He stood up, tall, strong, proud. "You are a criminal. The worst criminal in the Clave's history. Who did you murder to fabricate your death … and your son … whose infant did you sacrifice? Where is Clary? What have you done with her?"

Clary had never been more proud or more frightened for Jace. She wanted to beg him to stop, to save himself.

Valentine looked wounded. Clary could not tell if it was real or fake but if it was false it was not presented with the seamless polish that usually accompanied his lies. The incongruous way his shoulders sagged on his otherwise proud bearing and the downward cast of his derisive sneer implied he had not expected Jace's thorough rejection.

"That is not all I have to say," Valentine shrugged off his momentary discomposure. "If you do not follow me, I will have no choice but to terminate you. That is not what I want but you would leave me with no alternative. And if I am forced to take that measure then Clary would have to die as well."

Jace gaped at him and sat back down on the bed. "Why? Why would you hurt Clary? She's your daughter."

"You are more my son than she is my daughter," Valentine declared, "and she will not heed me once you are gone. I know her. She will be useless, an impediment. She will fight me and I cannot permit that."

Clary would have moved then to strike thoughtlessly at Valentine. A fury came over her when he threatened Jace but Valentine turned his serpentine gaze at her and she found she was anchored to the spot, unable to move or make a sound. How did he do this? He was no longer human. He was not a shadowhunter. He was some grotesque aberration of shadowhunter and demon.

Jace, however, seemed rooted by his own free will. He could not hide the anguish on his face.

"You have grown quite close to her," Valentine proceeded, his voice now taking a consoling turn. "I am not unfeeling. I know you two have … a strong connection. I will offer you this. If you willingly join me I will allow you to be together, wedded, bound to each other and to me."

The misery on Jace's face seemed to twist and conflict with another emotion, astonishment and hope? Clary did not know what went through his mind but she now she knew why Valentine had her wear the gown. She felt incredibly stupid for foolishly conforming with his plans. And then, Jace's face turned pale as he looked directly at her.

"Clary …" Jace whispered. His gold eyes glowed at the sight of her and trailed up and down her body. She felt herself flush involuntarily but was still fixed in place.

"Why isn't she moving?" Jace whipped back to Valentine, his eyes accusing. He slowly rose up and Clary could see the tension rising in his body, priming to attack.

"I can also stop her breath, if I so choose. She's just immobilized at the moment but you can watch her die if you carry on," Valentine sat back in the chair, undaunted and completely at ease. "Your answer then," Valentine continued. "You know well I lack patience. You know your mind. Answer and you two will either join me or die."

Jace sank back on the bed, his hands gripping his head. "I … submit."

"Good. Now come to me," Valentine stood up and a silver collar appeared in his hand.

Jace looked up and saw the band in Valentine's hand right away but rose and walked over to Valentine nonetheless. Clary struggled with everything she had to scream, move, stop what was about to happen but it felt as if Valentine was already applying pressure to her lungs. Simply breathing became a laborious contest. Jace stood in front of Valentine who snapped the silver collar around his neck.

"That settles that, then," Valentine was pleased.


	22. Chapter 22 Shadowhunter and Wife

**Thanks for the super encouraging reviews. Definitely gives me more incentive to update as soon as my poor sleep deprived self can manage although I admit this has been pretty consuming and a lot of fun writing. I feel like the 'end is nigh' and drawing it out a bit now. Another M rated chapter … Love to all.**

* * *

Clary collapsed to the floor, taking in great wheezing lung full breaths of air. She was free but Jace … Jace was shackled. He rushed over, lifted her from the ground and held her tight.

"Jace … Oh God, Jace …," she could barely speak and that was all she could manage.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he repeated in rote.

The two of them clung to each other. Tears streamed down both their faces.

"You should be happy," Valentine said in a dry tone. "Now you can be together. Come, we'll apply the Wedded Union runes. No one can separate you then."

Clary turned to face Valentine, her emerald eyes burned with loathing. "What have you done to him? What is that?" she asked, lightly handling the cold silver around Jace's throat.

Valentine's eyes narrowed but he smiled and answered, "Merely a precaution. I will know wherever he is and if I will it, he expires. You cannot unlock it with a rune. If you attempt it, he will die and just so we are clear, if you defy me, I will exact my punishment … on your husband."

Valentine walked over to them with his stele out. "Now hold out your hands."

"Why are you pushing this? Why do you want us married?" Clary glared at him.

Valentine raised his head and peered down at Clary imperiously. "It's better this way. It will end the … confusion your brother harbors concerning you. And I know you are … not pure any longer. When you left my protection to embark on your mission, you were untouched."

Valentine now turned his gaze to Jace. "I am assuming that was your doing. Am I wrong?"

Jace looked uncomfortable and mildly guilty but spoke clearly, "I love her."

"Of course you do," Valentine bared his teeth when he smiled. "I don't doubt it. And," he turned back to Clary, "she loves you. That is prodigiously clear. So, why not marry now? Do you think this love you share will pass? Do you think there is someone else out there who will make a better match?"

"Because he's seventeen," Clary answered harshly, "and I'm only sixteen. Are you insane?"

Jace lurched back, grappling with the collar.

"Jace!" Clary screamed and dropped down, her hands clutching his shoulders.

Jace had thrown his head back and was breathing heavily. "I'm OK, Clary. It's OK," he coughed.

"What did I tell you?" Valentine stood over them sneering. "I will not suffer your impertinence."

Clary brought her head down to Jace's chest and held onto him. There was nothing she could say.

Jace put his own arms around her and sat up. "I know I will never love another. I will take the runes."

Clary kept her head buried in Jace's chest. She didn't want any of this. To be forced to marry Jace was another way Valentine would corrupt them, another constant reminder of who controlled them.

"How did you know?" she asked quietly. "How did you know about me and Jace?"

"You mean how do I know you are sullied?" Valentine viewed her deprecatingly. "You would be surprised how helpful it is to tell a virgin. There are many uses for a virgin. It is one of the more … trivial senses I possess but helpful even so."

Clary shook her head. He was disgusting. He was her father. She had no choice but to obey him … for now. Somehow she would figure out a way to annihilate him. Jace stood and brought Clary up with him. Valentine handed the stele to Clary as Jace held out his hand. She hated him. She hated Valentine but she loved Jace. She drew the Wedded Union rune on the back of his hand then placed the stele in his outstretched grasp. Her own hand shook as she held it out and Jace took it gently, his golden eyes alight with devotion. Even now, even with Valentine's hateful surveillance, she knew this was what she wanted, that to be Jace's wife was her destiny and most revered wish. She just hated how they got here, why they were doing this now. Jace engraved the rune on her own hand.

Then moved it above her heart as he spoke the words, "Set me as a seal upon thine heart, as a seal upon thine arm: for love is as strong as death." He finished with a flourish at the top of her arm and put the stele back in her hand to complete the marriage runes above his own heart and arm.

Clary repeated the words and runes on Jace after he unbuttoned and pulled off his shirt. She almost lost herself to the moment, feeling a swell of love and joy to commit herself and him to her but a side glance at Valentine's satisfied smile left her cold and dissatisfied. But, she was glad that Jace could relish the moment when she had completed her recitation and finished the runes and he gathered her to him, kissing her deeply with no regard to Valentine's presence.

When Clary was finally able to turn her head to guage Valentine's reaction, she saw he had judiciously left them alone. She let herself fall apart then and held onto Jace as if he was the only thing saving her from drowning in quicksand. She sobbed in great gulps, not caring that the makeup she had so meticulously applied was likely leaving black streaks down her face. Jace held her firmly and rocked her back and forth until her breathing steadied. When she lifted her face to look at him, to see what this had cost him, see if he hated her for what he had been forced to do for her sake, she felt his mouth over hers and it was gentle but demanding at the same time and found her body strumming and pressing against his, wanting more, wanting him desperately.

She felt Jace's hand pull out the hair combs and the soft drift of her hair fell loose. His hand sunk into the curls and caressed her head while the other hand lowered the straps of the gold gown. His head descended to cover her shoulders with sweet, warm kisses, then the top of her breasts and then lower still. He unzipped the gown and it fell in a puddle at her feet. Clary could feel the passion and desire push all other thoughts aside and let her head fall back as Jace fell on his knees and continued to kiss the tips of her breasts and her stomach. His hands kneaded the cushioned muscles on her behind and she unwittingly spread her legs. He stood up quickly, still sucking and kissing her bare skin up her abdomen, over her chest and along her neck. He was about to undo his pants when she pulled his hands away and put her hands over his naked torso.

Her hands wandered along the ridges and hard, flat plains of his tanned, golden body then forcefully took hold of the buckle on his pants. She undid them and pulled the zipper down quickly.

"Will you always be ripping my clothes off?" he laughed lightly into her ear, "Because I could totally get used to that."

She answered by tugging his pants off taking his underwear with them. She was on her knees, gripping the back of his muscled legs. She was operating on pure instinct and an overwhelming longing to see all of him and adore him. She put her lips to his long, hard organ. Even that was beautiful. She had not really examined it before and now she covered it with light, fluttering kisses. Jace groaned long and low. His hands reached down trying to pull her back up but she wasn't done yet. Her tongued lapped at the head of his pulsing stiff member. Looking at it this close, she was amazed at the length of it and that it somehow fit so well inside her. She knew she wouldn't be able to hold off her own needs for long, feeling the damp quivering between her own legs.

She took him into her mouth. She wanted all of it and as it moved down her throat she struggled to keep from gagging.

"Oh, God," he growled, his voice deep and sultry. "I need you … please," he begged.

She drew him out of her mouth and then hungrily took it back in, sucking noisily. He swelled, growing even harder and longer until she could only take half of him into her mouth using her hands to stroke the base.

He pulled her up almost violently and lifted her body up against his. He was kissing and sucking on her nipples while she encircled his waist with her legs. She was dripping wet and so ready for him. She shoved aside her bikini bottom, exposing her nether region and tried to lower herself over him but he held her up too high, she could only reach the tip of him but she eagerly took in the head and clenched as much of him inside her as she could grasp.

He finally broke down and she felt them slamming down on the bed as he ripped off her underwear then plunged himself fully into her. It was so wet and slippery that she had to use all the muscles inside her to control the slide of his thick hot mount as he dived in and out of her. They were both panting loudly and she could hear herself making unintelligible high pitched pleas to keep going, to fill her up. She realized he was making his own garbled sounds and then understood he was telling her he loved her over and over again. She felt as if all the saturated nerves inside her, where Jace was pounding away, was combusting and she screamed out as the pleasure overtook her and vibrated through her body. It gave her another electrifying rush when she felt him slam deep into her, his body throbbing and shivering over hers, her tight hole suffused with a hot sticky liquid that slowly dripped out between their legs.

They lay there with their arms and legs wrapped tightly around each other. He was still inside her when they succumbed to the exhaustion from the trauma, tears and intense pleasure they had just experienced and fell asleep.

* * *

Valentine had just sent orders to Pangborn to obtain and deliver the cardstock and paints that Clary had requested, then sat back in the swiveling leather armchair by his desk. Everything was going as planned. He fingered the polished silver cuff around his wrist and allowed a slight smirk to grace his thin lips. They would need their own wing he thought or perhaps he would move them off to the cottage. He knew they should not all reside together, even in the large manor house, it would grow too uncomfortable and he was fairly certain they would take full advantage of the privacy and seclusion. He would give her the week to complete her task and bring him the cup. He only had a week before the appointed time with Azazel and Lilith. He would have to have the cup by then but he was not anxious. He felt confident that she would not let him down. Not with her husband's life at stake.

He was a little … concerned about breaking the latest developments to Jonathan and he was galled by it. Why should he be concerned how the whelp would react? His entire life and conception had been devised to serve Valentine. Jonathan would defer to his will. The boy had no choice, especially not now when he would soon have the power and might of Azazel behind him.

Jonathan, come to me. I'm in the library, Valentine summoned through his thoughts. The identical silver Morgenstern rings they both wore had been enchanted with fairy magic and provided a linked connection through their minds, enabling them to communicate without spoken words. But even Valentine knew he would have to enlighten Jonathan face to face. He could not trust that Jonathan would not react rashly. He was a little piqued that Jonathan did not answer, confirming his speedy attendance. That was not like him. Valentine stood up and walked to the door, considering searching for Jonathan but when he opened the door, Jonathan was there, an agitated look on his face.

"Clary's gone. She's not in her room," Jonathan announced.


	23. Chapter 23 Much Ado

Izzy had ransacked Jace's room looking for something that would qualify as a 'personal' belonging. As usual, old hospital corners had his room as neat as a pin. He was sure to freak when he saw the whirlwind she left behind. But she felt only the very faintest satisfaction mussing it up, making it seem like a real live human being actually inhabited the place. She really was consumed with worry and fear for Jace. Clary too, but mostly Jace. After all, Clary _was_ Valentine's daughter. Surely, he wouldn't hurt her. But what in all that was holy and beloved of the Angel could Valentine possibly want with Jace. It was almost impossible to tell what might be considered a personal belonging to Jace. He just had everything organized in such an austere and practical manner that his room might as well be a museum display. Simon had been good enough to offer his help but basically stood back watching her as she went through the drawers, pulled out clothes and threw up various odds and ends as she examined each object and decided they wouldn't do.

Izzy was getting frustrated. "Are you just going to stand there watching me?" she lashed out at Simon.

It seemed Simon had actually moved. He was no longer standing by the door and was now by Jace's beside table.

"You're like a force of nature. I was afraid to get in your way," he teased but the worry and concern did not leave his face.

"I'm sorry, Simon," Izzy breathed out. "I'm just … I feel so helpless!"

She was trying so hard to hold it together, to be the ice queen she worked to project but it felt like … everything was about to collapse. Of course she knew this was their life, the inherent danger that clung to every moment of their lives but Jace was supposed to be … indestructible. Her head ran through a visual reel of countless moments when Jace went head first against terrible odds, always taking the hit, putting himself in the worst peril to spare both her and Alec. What would they do without him? Izzy had not realized she had slumped down to sit on Jace's bed until she felt the bed weigh down from a warm body next to hers and then an arm around her shoulder.

"We'll find them," Simon spoke with conviction.

Izzy turned to look at him and was struck by his warm brown eyes. They looked like delicious milky pools of hot chocolate that she wanted to sip up and she imagined what it would be like to bask under the shade of the thick dark lashes that fringed those eyes.

"You have beautiful eyes," she said without thinking.

Simon looked surprised, sat up a little straighter then grinned. "Thanks. You have beautiful … everything?"

Izzy rolled her eyes but she could not help returning his smile and getting a little hot. Of course she didn't blush but there was something about him. She didn't doubt his sincerity or his … goodness. And that was weird. That she should look twice at someone like that. She always went for the bad boy. Maybe it was the wolf thing?

"How about this?" Simon held up a well worn stone. "It's a little odd but if somebody keeps a rock around it has to mean something."

"That's Jace's witchlight rune stone." Izzy plucked it out of Simon's hand. "He always keeps that on him. I wonder how he could've left without it."

"Couldn't he have another one?" asked Simon, a little puzzled why this would be a big deal.

"I guess," conceded Izzy. "It's just he's had that one since he first got here. See it's got that groove here, like his thumb wore it out."

Izzy took Simon's hand and moved his thumb over the depression. When she lifted her eyes he was staring so intensely at her she felt a really bizarre heat spread over her cheeks.

"What's going on with you and Clary?" she didn't know why she said that.

Simon broke his gaze and she was almost sorry.

"We're best friends. She'll always be my best friend." Simon looked back up at her. "I thought we could be something more but she has Jace."

"Oh," Izzy felt a stab of disappointment.

"I want her to be happy. I think he makes her happy." Simon shrugged then and his face grew somber. "Although, I don't know how happy they can be right now."

"Well, this is good," Izzy held out the stone.

"Or this," Simon raised his other hand. A small well worn, leather bound book of Chaucer's poetry was in his hand.

"Oh," Izzy took the book. It opened on 'Rondel of Merciless Beauty.' It seemed Jace had folded the page there.

'Your two great eyes will slay me suddenly;

Their beauty shakes me who was once serene;

Straight through my heart the wound is quick and keen.'

"Yeah, this will work," Izzy shook her head.

"He's a real renaissance man, huh?" asked Simon.

"No," answered Izzy. "He's a stone cold shadowhunter … or at least he was."

* * *

Clary woke up feeling the push and pull of Jace inside her. He was easily able to slide in with all the come still inside her.

"What are you doing?" she groaned.

"Really? You can't tell?" he answered, his head dipping down to kiss her neck.

"Are you just going to keep coming inside me?" she gasped. "I know I'm your teenage bride but I'm not ready to be a teenage mother."

She hadn't been ready to wake up either and the initial vexation she felt quickly evaporated as ecstasy took over. She locked her legs around him and their hips hammered into each other.

"I'm sorry. I can't stop now," Jace mumbled into her neck.

"I didn't say you should stop … I just think we should use something," Clary rushed out between escalating gasps.

"Yeah, I'll just ask Valentine to pick up a jumbo sized box of condoms," Jace laughed. "Seriously, I love you and I'd love anything we make together." He swung her up so they faced each other, her legs around his waist. The angle of his cock inside her drew shivers out of her.

"You're impossible. I'm not ready for babies," she continued as she jumped up and down against him.

"Are we arguing?" he asked, licking her ear. "Can we just make this our thing? Let's agree we only argue when we make love."

Their movements grew frenzied as they bucked into each other.

"Oh God! I love having your semen inside me," she moaned as the walls inside her clung and quivered against his exploding erection.

"And I love coming in you," he breathed into her. They kissed passionately as she drew out the remaining liquid heat from his cock.

Finally he lifted her off him and they lay side by side, their arms around each other.

"Now, Jace," Clary finally managed to catch her breath. "When Valentine comes back, stay on his good side. You have to find out how to get out of this thing." She fingered the hateful silver collar. "I hate him. I'm going to kill him."

"I … I can't hate him," Jace replied hesitatingly.

"What?" Clary looked at him disbelievingly.

"He's the man that raised me. The only parent I've ever known … and he gave me you." Jace nuzzled into her hair.

"No, Jace," she answered firmly. "I gave you me or gave me you … you know what I mean. That sick bastard wants to use us as his puppets."

Jace frowned, "You're right … but … I can't let him hurt you."

"Oh, Jace," she cried into him. "He needs me. He won't hurt me. It's you … It's you who's in danger."

"Are we arguing now?" Jace looked at her hopefully.

"You're kidding me," she lifted her eyes at him, a small smirk on her lips.

"I think we've discovered another amazing Jace Wayland skill," he smiled down at her. "Superhuman stamina, no runes needed."

* * *

"What is it, father?" Jonathan could tell his father was unconcerned about Clary's whereabouts, that he knew exactly where she was and that Jonathan wouldn't like it.

What have you done with her?" he looked unflinchingly at the black eyes that mirrored his own.

A portal appeared then at the customary place in the far corner, almost directly opposite their current position. A parcel covered in brown paper advanced out of the portal. Valentine nodded with rare good humor.

"That was quicker than I expected," he stated to no one in particular.

"What is it?" asked Jonathan.

"Some supplies your sister requested," Valentine picked up the package while the portal disappeared and brought it to his desk. "She will have the cup for me soon."

Jonathan prowled over to his father and sat back in the chair in front of the desk.

"So," Jonathan continued casually, "where is she?"

Valentine had finished unwrapping the package, revealing heavy rectangular paper, paints and brushes.

His eyes drifted to Jonathan's face. "She's with Jace," he said calmly.

"What is she doing with Jace?" Jonathan spoke slowly as he straightened and moved to the edge of his chair.

Valentine knit his brows. "They are consummating their marriage … again." He held up the silver cuff around his wrist. "The enchantments on this set may be rather … inconvenient. It will help once they are set up in their own dwelling. The senses are acute in our close proximity."

Jonathan sat unmoving in his seat. "They are wed," he said simply.

"Yes," confirmed Valentine, "and soon I will have exactly what I wanted. My two sons by my side as I rule over the Clave."

"You gave her to him," Jonathan said woodenly. "He has her now. He's having her now."

"That's what I said," Valentine eyed Jonathan. "Is that a problem?" his voice was rich and low.

"None, whatsoever," answered Jonathan optimistically. "So they're in Jace's room?" he asked getting up from his chair. "I think I'll go congratulate the happy couple."

Valentine raised his head and peered down at Jonathan. "Yes, you should make peace with Jace. I expect you two to work together to serve my will," Valentine reasoned. "Oh, Jonathan …"

Jonathan paused, his hand on the door knob.

"I will know if anything befalls Jace. You will not thwart me. Do you understand?" Valentine stated plainly.

"Of course, father," Jonathan kept his head lowered and left his father's presence.


	24. Chapter 24 Changes

**Thank you so much for the reviews!**

 **To cjj (guest), I don't know why your last review isn't showing up, but I got the email notification and really appreciate your praise. Makes me all warm and fuzzy.**

 **To** **W3r3wolfprincess3** **, you make me laugh. I may be getting a bit too graphic but what the hell, it's just words, am I right?**

 **To reppinda5o3, just a thank you for sticking around, enjoying my story and giving me so much feedback.**

 **This was originally going to be two chapters but f' it, here you go, mateys.**

 **Love to all!**

* * *

Jonathan walked out of the room quickly. He could not pay attention to his surroundings. He found himself darting through the hallways until he was in front of Jace's door. He stood there. He did nothing. He listened. And yes, he heard them. They were whispering, then moaning, little cries of pleasure breaking their speech. He was so completely confused by the turn of events and what it was that he was feeling, the fact that he was feeling something and feeling whatever that was so much. It was overwhelming. He had really believed his father would understand. After biding his father from inception, no matter the punishment, the torture Valentine would inflict, Valentine was always Master. Now? Now, it was clear. Valentine would not give him the only thing he ever asked for, the only thing he ever cared to have, the only thing he would defy his father for. Jonathan pressed his forehead to the door. He could hear them … climaxing … together. The wave of emotion swept through him again. He had … to leave. He could not stay here. That would not be wise. There were things he had to do first. Before he could end this farce and take what belonged to him.

He found it difficult to turn and walk away as he told himself to do. Somehow his legs would not cooperate. Why? What kept him there? Couldn't she feel it? Couldn't she feel what they were to each other? Other than that one moment when all he could feel was white rage, he had always been kind to her. He wanted to be kind to her. He had been genuinely kind to her. She had no idea what he could offer to her, what he would give her. She would throw it all away to be with … the other Jonathan, the fake one, the one that usurped his place with his father and now with her. He had never known such hatred as it burned through his body now. He hated Jace. He might just hate him more than he wanted Clary. He would cut down the thieving foundling. If he accomplished nothing else, that one thing he would do. And then he would have his sister. Once they were together he could … live. He found his legs were working again and sprinted away.

* * *

Valentine mentally commanded Jace to prepare themselves for his arrival. Similar to the Morgenstern rings, the collar and bracelet enabled mental communication, but of course it also possessed the greater spells to subjugate the life of the one who wore the silver around his neck. He carried the parcel in his arm and arrived at Jace's door.

I am here, Valentine informed Jace and the door opened. The newlyweds had recently washed, their skin glowing presumably from hot showers.

"You two will reside in the cottage," Valentine commenced. "A newly mated couple should not reside with other family members. It's unseemly."

"I have already had Clary's belongings removed to your new abode. Follow me," he turned and strode away, not bothering to hear a response or checking to see that they attended him.

Clary regretted dressing back in the satin gown. She had considered wearing some of Jace's oversized garments but declined when she imagined Valentine's reaction to her disheveled appearance in ill-fitting clothes. Now she had no idea how far they would have to travel to get to this cottage and she was also walking in the heeled sandals.

"Do you want me to carry you?" Jace whispered with a grin.

"You may have to eventually," she answered under her breath. Her legs moved rapidly to keep up with Valentine's brisk pace. "Have you been to this cottage before?"

"No," Jace's eyes followed Valentine. "He wouldn't let me. I guess he had something to hide … or someone."

They left the manor and were walking through the fields. Clary took the opportunity to slip off her shoes and strolled through the grass barefoot. It was much easier to trail Valentine without the blasted heels. There really was no good reason to wear heels, she thought. Although, she did enjoy the extra inches it provided but it was better to feel the ground, stable under her feet.

"Damn, I wasn't paying attention," she hissed.

"What's that, Baby?" Jace was never too far away, just a step or two ahead of her.

"I wasn't paying attention to where your room was in the Manor. I'm beginning to think I may not be cut out to be a Shadowhunter … you know, I'm missing the whole 'awareness' thing," she rushed in Jace's ear.

"You're an amazing Shadowhunter. Look what you've done. You can create runes … and you kick ass," he smiled at her.

"I think we're losing him. He's way ahead of us now." Clary pointed toward Valentine.

"Relax, I know where the cottage is, I've just never been allowed to go there," Jace leaned down and gave her a quick peck on the lips. "And we're getting our own separate place, now." Jace looked pleased with the prospect. "Why would you need to go back to that room?"

"No reason. It's just … I have some very good memories in that room," she got a little heated thinking about it.

"Oh, you mean when you were plotting someone's death?" Jace had stopped and taken her in his arms.

"Yes, that's it exactly," she frowned thinking about how she really had no plot, no ideas, nothing.

"What's that for?" Jace asked kissing the crease between her brows. "I'm actually looking forward to having our own little place."

Clary looked at him questioningly. "You do understand this is a bad situation we're in here. We have to get away from him. He's evil."

"I know that. Of course I do," Jace had her pressed tight against him. "But you said yourself, we've had some good memories here. Really astoundingly awesome memories."

His lopsided smile was incredibly seductive and made her warm all over.

"Don't you think those memories would be better if you weren't wearing that … harness and we weren't being held captive by an evil monster?" She had meant to sound rebuking but it came out low with a sultry gasp as he grinded himself against her.

"I was just imagining being harnessed by you," he whispered in her ear. "I don't want to ever be apart from you but I don't think we'll ever get anything done as long as we're alone, together."

Jace straightened and reluctantly moved his body away from her but kept hold of her hand.

"We're being summoned," Jace told Clary. "He doesn't like to be kept waiting."

* * *

Magnus and the group sat around a large round wooden table he had 'magicked up' (Simon's words), each with a beverage of their choice and surrounded by a cacophony of clashing opinions.

"How can we argue about this?" asked Alec. "We have to tell the Clave now."

"Maybe we should have had this shindig at the Institute," Izzy jumped in. "I mean, Hodge can't even be here." She waved her arms around Magnus' loft.

"I don't trust him," Luke said in a soft but ominous tone. "The less he knows, the better."

"You don't want anyone to know anything," Izzy complained. "You don't want to tell Hodge. You don't want to tell the Clave …"

"And we need help," Alec finished for his sister.

"I know," Luke agreed.

"You do?" asked both Alec and Izzy.

Magnus lifted an eyebrow and his cat eyes shined. "Will they listen?"

"They'll have to." Luke turned to Magnus. "They'll have my word and if you join me they would have no cause to doubt. Your word means a great deal."

"What are you talking about?" Alec asked, his voice laced with anxiety as he thought of Magnus' increasing involvement.

Luke faced Alec. "I have my own pack. I can rally more than a hundred of us alone and I will call for a parley with the Vampires and Fairies. They will understand the danger of leaving Valentine unchecked."

"No," Alec responded firmly. "That is the Nephilim's role. To defend the peace, to fend off demons and regulate the Downworlders. Not the other way around."

"There's only one logical thing to do," Simon spoke up and all eyes turned to him. "You do your thing and we'll do ours. But first, Magnus can you track them?"

"I've tried the stock tracking spells and it's just as I expected," Magnus answered. "There's some kind of block on them. I can't get a hold of either of them … the normal way."

"What the hell do you mean we'll each do our own thing?" Alec interrupted. "I thought we were doing this … together."

"You seem to have some hang up against Downworlders … like most Shadowhunters," Simon explained.

"How can you say that?" Alec exclaimed. "I'm in love with a Downworlder."

Everyone stopped and stared at Alec who appeared pretty shocked himself and possibly ready to pass out.

"Why, Alec," Magnus jumped up. "Do you mean that? You never told me …"

"Well, I'd say it's goddamn obvious," Izzy interjected. "And what were you saying about Shadowhunters?" she turned her scornful attention to Simon.

"Maybe to you," Magnus continued at Izzy then looked back at Alec. "I didn't think you were all that serious about me."

"How can you say that?" Alec recovered and was no longer gripping the edge of the table. He moved to Magnus, his eyes beaming with emotion. "Of course, I love you. The words alone can't express what I feel. You know so much, I thought that was … the easiest thing you could know. You know I'm not good with … talking about feelings … but …"

Magnus had cut him off, his hands on Alec's face as he brought his own face down on his and they kissed fervidly. They seemed to be oblivious to the audience around them.

"Well, this is awkward," Luke muttered, looking away.

"I thought we were … friends, Simon," Izzy had not been paying much attention to Alec and Magnus and still watched Simon reproachfully.

Simon tore his eyes away from Alec and Magnus who were still lost in their kiss. "I didn't mean you, Izzy. I … You … you're different." He looked down and blushed.

Luke got up and slammed his hands down on the table. "I don't mean to interrupt all of this … this … whatever the hell this is … but I've got to get my pack together and call for a Downworlder congregation, so clearly I'm busy. Magnus, keep me informed, please. I know you'll find them. Let me know if there's anything I can do to help. You have my number."

Luke spun around and left the apartment.

Magnus and Alec still held each other but their lips had finally separated as they watched the door shut behind Luke.

Magnus lifted a hand and tugged back at the hair on top of his head with frustration.

"This is going to take a while. I may have to call in some demonic favors … but I should be able to get something, a general reading on where they are." Magnus still had his other hand on Alec's shoulder. "Honey, if you want to inform the Clave, I think now's the time."

* * *

"So, this is it." Clary wandered around the cottage. It was actually very nice. She had been expecting a rundown shack given Valentine's general indifference towards her but she supposed he was fairly accommodating with Jace notwithstanding the Collar of Death.

It was a large dwelling. She wasn't sure how they determined it was a cottage. Seemed liked a nice, large house to her. Of course, not like the Manor, but there were three bedrooms, a large kitchen, dining room, living room and several bathrooms. It was fairly bare, but there were couches, beds and sure enough, her things were already put away in the closet and one of the dressers. On top of a desk, she saw a stele, the cardstock, brushes, pencils and paints. She let her fingers skim the items, feeling a magnetic pull from the stele. She was ready to try out the new rune, but not with Valentine there.

"Do you like it?" Jace murmured in her ear from behind, his arms lightly circling her waist. "I can't wait until we're alone and we can break in every room, bed and surface in this place."

She turned around and put her arms up and around his neck. "You're incorrigible. But so am I. I'd say we're the perfect match."

She would have moved up for a kiss but she saw Valentine follow Jace into the room with a disagreeable expression on his face.

"I will not have any of that in my presence," he decreed. "I've had quite enough of your 'bonding' at the Manor. From now on, you two will wait until I am at least three hundred feet away. "

Clary and Jace broke apart but kept their hands joined.

"I see you've found the supplies," Valentine moved toward the desk. "You will obtain the cup for me. I will give you no more than two days." His black eyes were flat and hard as they fixed on Clary.

"Yes, father. You will have it by that time." Clary acquiesced.

"Remember, what I told you. If you or Jace attempt an escape, he will die and you will follow," he spoke detachedly. "In the meantime, Jace, come with me. You and your brother will join me. I have a meeting and you will accompany me. You should learn what it is to rule beside me. One day you will take my place."

Jace looked surpised and disturbed. "Me? You mean Jonathan. Jonathan will take your place."

"Yes, Jonathan," Valentine answered but seemed strangely distracted, "but you will be his second. You should learn to take his place should circumstances require it."

Jace turned back to Clary and took her other hand so that both their hands were clasped in the other. "I love you. I'll see you when we get back … soon?" he looked back at Valentine to affirm.

"Yes, yes," Valentine spoke indulgently. "It shouldn't be long. Before the night falls. There is food in the kitchen should you require a meal. I suggest you prepare something for your husband when he returns."

Clary's mouth opened a little at this suggestion. She was expected to cook.

Jace smiled. "Don't worry. We'll figure it all out. I can make a mean cheese sandwich and fry an egg. It doesn't matter. We're together."

"Work on the cup," Valentine's eyes bore down on Clary then left with Jace following him.

* * *

Jace hung back. It was not a place he was used to taking when he was armed and suited in his black gear. But Valentine had plainly given him a signal to stand back, to guard his rear. It was funny that he hadn't just mentally commanded him but then they had no need for words in combat. Jace could easily read the man, at least he could in this type of situation. Valentine was not afraid but he was cautious. He had only sparingly described Jace's assignment; follow my lead and be ready to fight.

Valentine had brought both Jonathan and Jace to his traveling apartment. Jace had never been there before, at least not consciously and found himself conducting his usual sweep and search of any new environment. It was a dark place, austere but modern. It actually had a large flat screen TV and modern kitchen appliances. Jace found it odd since Valentine had always shunned such conveniences when he grew up with him in Idris but it wasn't as if Valentine was in a conversational mood and Jace judged it best to stay quiet and observe at this stage in their relationship.

Jace was not entirely sure how he felt about Valentine. Part of him despised him, the part that wanted to protect Clary and go along with anything and everything she wanted. That he would threaten her life was enough to want him dead. But there was another part of him that wanted to be with Valentine. That recognized him as the father that had been torn away from him; that he had grieved over for almost half his life. He was torn and he wasn't sure how he was supposed to act around the man. For now, it was enough to stay silent and do as he was told. It wasn't as if he had much choice in the matter anyway. Still, some part of himself told him he should be doing something. That this passive bullshit was … bullshit.

And of course, there was Jonathan, the white haired freak. He was constantly under Jace's vigil. He knew how to watch without making it obvious and he was definitely not letting that piece of shit out of his sight. Clary no longer said anything about 'saving' the turd and Jace could only guess that they had some further interaction that led her to understand he was just not 'save-able.' Well, he was glad she had come to that realization because it had been obvious for quite some time that the freak had some weird fixation on Clary … his wife. The thought of it made him flush.

She was his wife. That made him ludicrously happy. He didn't know any other way to describe it. He felt as if it were wrong to be this happy. She complained that he didn't appreciate the serious danger they were in but how could he not be happy having her as his wife. He had always flawlessly gone through the motions, dedicated his life to being the best shadowhunter he could be, that had been the most important, consuming thing in his life before her. And after they met, that was it. Being a shadowhunter was still important but she outshined everything else in his life. It was as if he lived under a giant shadow before and never knew it until she came and brought him out into the light. And now there was no way for him to go back into that shadow. If the light was taken away, he would shrivel up and die. He knew it and he knew he could never let that happen.

It frightened him how sick in love he was with her. He had known from the moment they met they were meant for each other but he hadn't trusted the alien feeling. He had never known or imagined these emotions before. He wondered what would have happened if they met before she was taken by Valentine, when she still believed she was a mundane and knew nothing of the shadowhunter world. Knowing her strength, her pigheaded stubbornness, he guessed there probably would have been more friction and quarreling from their vastly different mindsets but he knew it wouldn't matter. He would have loved her no matter how she came to him. This way was just … easier and washed over them both so completely and definitively there had been no wasted time.

Jace shook his head. He had to get his head out of his ass or rather Clary's ass. God, he could live up on that ass, deep inside her hot, soft, wet cavern. No, he had to stop this. It was so not the time for this. He told her they wouldn't get anything done while they were alone together. Well apparently that was a lie. Apparently, just the thought of her was enough to make him a useless, drooling idiot.

A second violent shake of his head drew Jonathan's attention. His colorless black eyes locked on Jace. Jace had never wanted to beat down on and obliterate someone as much as Jonathan. It bothered him that Jonathan had bested him twice but he was not humbled by it. Some part of him knew there was more in him, something untapped that would defeat him. It was provoking that he didn't know how to free these hidden reserves but it helped to know it was there. Jonathan evidently felt something similar about him. His black gaze didn't hide the utter abhorrence he had toward Jace and he could see Jonathan clenching his fist over his sword.

Jace was actually a bit floored when a multitude of demons swarmed around them. This was really getting out of hand. He had never been taken unaware before but it took less than a millisecond to get his seraphs out and spin into action. He had no idea what brought this on or where they even were. He was told to follow Valentine and that's what he did, out of the traveling apartment, into some rocky field where Valentine proceeded to draw out runes in a pentagram shape on the ground and started speaking some gibberish. Strange that he didn't recognize the language. He had been versed in over twenty languages, almost all taught by Valentine, himself, so he assumed any language Valentine knew, he would surely know as well.

And then this onslaught. Well, he didn't mind fighting demons. That was his formerly favorite thing to do. Now, of course that would be … no, he would not allow his mind to go there. Anyway, she would be furious if he let himself get killed and he had so much to live for now, that was not an option. It was really almost too easy, slicing through one demon after another. He could see Valentine in front of him, efficiently using his own sword to cut through the demon horde. He assumed Jonathan was managing his own throng when a quick glance of his eyes revealed Jonathan was nowhere to be seen. Maybe they cut him down, Jace thought fleetingly but knew that was virtually impossible given how easy it was to handle the horde. Where the hell did that lunatic go?


	25. Chapter 25 Mom and Me

**Something funky going on with the reviews but I'm still getting them in my email, reading them & happy to get them.**

 **I don't know how much longer this story will continue. Another chapter or two, I think, and then an epilogue. Feeling a little sad about it but I guess everything comes to an end.**

 **Love to all!**

* * *

Clary drew the rune on her arm carefully. This one wasn't like the others. She could tell she had to follow the lines on this rune precisely to make it work. She was done. She examined her work. Yes, it was good. It even glowed the brilliant red she saw in her vision and then she could feel the question; the answer she had to provide to complete the rune's effect.

Jocelyn Fairchild, she thought and she let her mind immerse in the memories of her mother. Her beauty, obstinance, fortitude held center court in Clary' recollections. She could feel a fluttering tingle throughout her body. Clary felt her heartbeat accelerating and a stinging sensation course through her fingertips, up her arms and spread through her chest, up her head and down her legs until it reached her toes then dwindled away. She looked down at herself. She had purposely put on a loose robe and as she stood she could feel the difference from the added inches. It was a strong, slim body, still vibrant but more than two decades older than the one she had always known.

And then the memories flooded in and she knew this body. This body belonged to the mind that now revealed itself to her. _How much she loved her daughter! When she discovered her pregnancy, she knew she had to leave him. She could not allow him to pollute this child the way he had with her firstborn_ … Jonathan! _Jonathan was contaminated. He was some foul, demon thing. She had wanted to love him but every time she looked at the baby she could feel its black soulless eyes drawing the life out of her._

Oh God! Jonathan! What was he? Valentine was an inhuman monster. How could he do that to Jonathan?

 _She took the cup. Valentine had stolen it from the Clave and had plans for it. He knew there was undiscovered power in the cup. More than just creating a new force of Nephilim. The cup would give him what he wanted, the powers of the downworlders: their immortality, their strength and speed and ultimately dominion over the world. How would he achieve this? She did not know but she knew he had been conducting experiments. Terrible experiments that brought him closer and closer to reaching his ambition. She could not allow that to happen. She took the cup right before the planned Uprising. She hid it and she hid the Book of the White …_

Clary fell to her knees. She knew. She knew how to save her mother. She knew how to get the cup. But … but … _she couldn't give it to Valentine. He would destroy all of them. He would destroy the world with the cup. The man was mad. He went against all the Covenants. He would deal with demons. He was likely part demon himself by now._ Clary struggled with herself, with the part that was Jocelyn Fairchild. She needed the cup. She could not let Jace die and Valentine would kill him if she did not deliver the cup. She had to kill the beast.

Clary staggered to the desk and picked up the card and the stele. She traced the rune on the upper right hand corner of the card and watched it glow bright. Then she put the stele down and moved her hand into the card. She felt the cold, hard strength of the cup, lifted it and carried it out.

Her hand shook so she held the cup in both hands and marveled at the sight and feel of the cool gold. _The other part of her had seen and felt the cup before, had dreamt the meaning of the rune one night as she had tossed and turned worrying how to conceal it from Valentine._ And now what? Now what was she supposed to do? She had to get the Book from the Manor. She had to portal it to Magnus. He would know what to do. She had to find her mother. Where are you? _Where am I? At Renwick's back in New York, an abandoned hospital on Roosevelt Island. Clary! Be careful! Stay away from them! Stay away from Valentine and Jonathan. Can't you see everything I've done? Everything to protect you?_

Clary shut her eyes and squeezed the thoughts out of her head. She would lose her mind like this. She sat down and took big breaths in and out to calm herself. She could not argue with herself. She could not let her mother take over. But she needed her for one final task. She lay a blank card out, took a pencil and started to sketch the cup. She would make another card and send that to Dorothea. She would not let the old lady down. She would keep her promise.

* * *

Jonathan could hardly suppress the laughter that ached to escape his lips. His father expected a civilized conversation with the greater demon, Asmodeus. He watched Valentine carefully draw out the runes to call this king of demons and keep him contained within its protective shield. His father was an extremely learned man. Very few, if any others, knew the runes, the words, the sprinkle of the ashes of virgins and newborns that were required to enact the invocation. He knew Valentine kept things from him. It was evident now that Valentine did not entirely trust him. But Valentine underestimated him. Valentine did not truly know what Jonathan was capable of, how he surreptitiously followed and watched him and learned what Valentine tried to keep hidden from him. He didn't know everything yet but he knew enough.

His mother, his true mother, Lilith, had shared some of his secrets. Valentine had promised the mortal cup to Azazel. It seemed Azazel could use the cup, infused with Raziel's ichor, to construct a new tool that would release him from his chains on Duadel. In return, he would cede half his powers to Valentine. Valentine would essentially possess the preternatural abilities of a greater demon, second only to Lucifer, immortal with the ascendant powers to take possession over this world. Lilith had enabled their introductions, secured the necessary enchantments for Valentine to maintain some control during his encounters with the greater demons who would otherwise crush him.

Valentine also had some kind of hold over Lilith. She was bound to him in some way. She could not simply pass the knowledge to Jonathan, the incantations and runes that allowed Valentine to bargain with the ruling hellions. She could only speak to him through a passing fog, a few brief moments. She would do whatever she could for him. He was her only child but she could not oppose Valentine. They had formed their own unbreakable compacts long ago.

He carefully studied the runes and patterns that Valentine drew to beckon Asmodeus. He had wiped the encasing lines around a rune with a swift sweep of his foot while his father's back was turned, scattering the ashes at the center of his diagram. And that fool, Jace, was none the wiser. Too busy putting one foot in front of the other. He actually caught the buffoon shaking his head, no doubt clearing the tumbleweeds floating around in the space between his ears. And then he dared to look straight at Jonathan. Those empty golden eyes had the gall to meet his eyes and what's more, they challenged him. As if Jace hadn't been on the ground at his feet, at his mercy. And knowing that this loser had taken Clary, that he would claim the right to hold her and love her … he wanted to rip that vacant head off and smash it, smash that stupid jaw, crush his skull, squeeze his eyes into pulp.

But now his father was completing the conjuring, speaking the ancient Sumerian words to convoke Asmodeus safely within the confines of the pentagram. Except Jonathan had changed it and his father would not get the meeting he was expecting. Jonathan readied his fingers over the ring to take him back to the apartment. He knew his father would be irate but he no longer cared much for his father's reactions and he needed this moment. Away from his father and away from Jace, while they were thoroughly occupied. It was the least his father could do for him.

* * *

Alec was at the NY Institute and puzzled over the message he had just received. He had sent a fire message to Alicante.

 _We have seen Valentine Morgenstern. He has abducted shadowhunters, his wife, Jocelyn, their daughter, Clary Fairchild, and Jace Wayland. His son, Jonathan Morgenstern, also lives and works for him. He is searching for the Mortal Cup._

He had not known what kind of reaction that would reap. Certainly concern, a call to action, a plan to find and capture the villain. Instead he received a terse message from the Consul himself, Malachi Dieudonne. Alec was to come to Alicante with his sister. They would stand before the Council. They would be interrogated. No mention of Hodge. No one seemed to care for Hodge's input in the matter. Not that Hodge could join them in Idris, given the curse placed upon him, but Alec would have thought there would have been a meeting, some discussion, at the NY Institute where the events had unfolded and close to Valentine's last sighting.

They would require the services of a warlock to create the portal to Alicante. An appointed time was set in the message since the wards around Alicante would have to be dismantled to allow a portal entry. Fortunately, Alec was very close to a warlock that could provide such services. Of course he made no mention of Magnus in his report to the Council. He knew enough about the Clave's prejudices to know they would not treat Magnus with the honor or respect he deserved. He wanted badly to protect Magnus even though he knew Magnus was quite formidable and capable of preserving himself very well. He had hundreds of years of practice after all. Still, he was not a warrior. He shouldn't have to put his life in danger the way a shadowhunter was born and bred to do. He had sent Magnus a text asking him to meet him at the NY Institute. He had not explained why. He was pretty sure Magnus would not like it but he had no choice and at least this would give them a chance to say their goodbyes in person. It shouldn't be a long separation. He and Izzy had nothing to hide and then they could go back to tracking Valentine, recover their brother and Clary and apprehend Valentine and Jonathan.

"Now what?" Izzy came swinging into the library, holding her phone. He had sent her a text asking her to meet him here. Behind her was Hodge. Hodge did not look well at all. He had been looking progressively worse since Jace and Clary were taken by Valentine. He was unshaved, a scruffy shadow clear along his chin and below his nose, evidently no longer concerned with grooming, and adopting a general bedraggled appearance. He never realized how much Hodge must care for Jace to let his abduction affect him this way. Alec was somewhat surprised that Hodge bothered to show up.

"Get packed. We're going to Alicante," Alec told her.

"What? Why? Did Magnus track them there?" Izzy eagerly moved closer to her brother.

"No. Magnus hasn't sent any word yet about tracking them," Alec ran his hand through his hair frustrated. "It's the Council, or rather the Consul. He wants to question us."

Alec and Izzy turned to Hodge when they heard him stumbling back into a chair.

"Are you okay?" Izzy asked with concern. "You look god awful." She reached a hand out but Hodge cringed backward.

"You children don't understand … what it is to be imprisoned here. To be banned from your home, a disgrace to your family, never allowed … redemption," Hodge croaked out, then weeped into his hands.

"Hodge!" Izzy exclaimed then bent down attempting a fumbling hug that Hodge shrug off.

"No, no, I don't deserve your pity. I deserve this … I deserve this … but I … want to make it right," Hodge finished and ceased sobbing.

"What do you mean?" Alec asked uncertainly. Suddenly he remembered Luke's words, that he didn't trust Hodge and he was afraid that there was truth to Luke's concerns.

"I … I know where Valentine is … or where he was … he probably isn't there anymore but it should yield some clues to his current whereabouts," Hodge divulged.

"How do you know that, Hodge?" Izzy asked gently but her back stiffened.

Hodge lowered his head into his hands and slowly moved it back and forth as if to deny the truth. "I was in league with him … He promised to take away this curse … but he … I don't … I am … sorry."

"Is that why you wanted Jace and Clary to visit Dorothea without us?" Alec leaped to this conjecture. "How could you? Jace trusted you. We all trusted you!"

"Yes, it's true. There's no excuse … I was just so … desperate … and Valentine … he … he … scares me." Hodge was clearly a broken man. Neither Alec or Izzy could question that.

"Where is he or was he, then?" Alec continued in a stern tone. He actually did feel sorry for Hodge but was too conflicted with the knowledge that Hodge had practically handed Jace and Clary to Valentine to linger on that sentiment. "And what does he want with Jace?"

"He was at Renwick's, a rundown relic on Roosevelt Island, but one of the last places in New York with a permanent portal," Hodge muttered with his face still down in his hands. "I don't know what he wants with Jace but … but he raised the boy. He is the man that Jace always believed to be his father. Now, I know the truth. Jace is not a Wayland. He is Stephen Herondale's offspring."

"What?" voiced Izzy, a stunned look on her face.

"Who is Stephen Herondale?" asked Alec, shocked, but clearly determined for answers.

"Another shadowhunter. A very talented one, he was a remarkable man. But he was swayed by Valentine, followed him into the Circle like so many of us, but I do believe in the end … he recognized the dark path that Valentine had taken … and he wanted to renounce the Circle … but it was too late." Hodge explained, his voice wavering.

"And Valentine … Valentine raised Jace?" Izzy asked perplexed.

"Yes, as Michael Wayland, another deceased shadowhunter and former member of the Circle," Hodge continued, "But I never knew … I never knew if Jace was Valentine's true son or the infant he saved when Celine Herondale took her own life. Now I know … after I met … Sebastian."

"What will we do? What should we do?" Izzy turned to Alec, panic rising in her voice.

"We send a fire message to the Council and then we go to Luke. He will come with us to Renwick's," Alec answered decisively.

He knew the Council was expecting them to arrive in Alicante but they had to jump on this chance to catch Valentine unprepared.

* * *

Clary panted heavily. She had just run up to the Manor, retrieved the Book of the White from the Wayland library and hurried back to the cottage. She knew she could not hold onto it for long. She had to send it to Magnus, but how, where? She looked through the book but it was all written in some ancient language that she could not decipher. The pages were a delicate, onion skin. She was afraid to handle it, afraid to damage it. But where would she send it? Where could she send it? Finally, an answer came to her. She wrote out a note addressed to Magnus, placed it behind the cover of the book then drew the portal rune against a wall. She watched the streaking silver grey and black swirls form and could see the room that she had envisioned. Someone had run through the room like a whirlwind but she supposed there was a good reason for that and she shoved the book through the portal. She could see it land on the bed and then the portal subsided.

She sighed with relief. It was done. She had finished the card and sent it via portal to Madame Dorothea. She had found the book and sent it to the safest place she could think of that should reach Magnus … eventually. She wondered how long this rune on her arm would last. She could still feel the worry, the fear her mother held for Clary's safety. She wanted, no she needed it to go away. She could not get distracted with this … idiotic terror for herself. How long would it take? The fear for her daughter, herself, threatened to take over.

She was looking down at her hands, Jocelyn's long, graceful fingers, callused from years of training, fighting demons then handling paints and fashioning her own canvas boards, when a shadow fell over her. It was too early. She had not expected Jace to return for several hours yet but she looked up with a smile, eager to have him back in her arms. It was Jonathan. He stood a few feet from her and appeared even more startled by her presence than she felt at his unwelcome proximity.

"What are you doing here?" he seethed, the shock in his eyes narrowing with contempt. "Where is Clary?"


	26. Chapter 26 Live Each Day

**I had a hard time with this chapter. A lot of internal debating going on in my head.**

 **Think I've figured it out … Love to All!**

* * *

The sight of Jonathan, knowing what she now knew of him, struck her with horror. She honestly wasn't sure if the emotions belonged to herself or her mother. Either way, they shared the same revulsion. Clary quickly looked down at the rune on her arm. How much longer? She wasn't sure if she should pretend to be her mother or reveal herself to Jonathan. What did he want from her?

"I asked you a question," he came closer, each prowling step sending an alarm through her body.

"Jonathan," she spoke gently as if to pacify a savage creature. "Why are _you_ here?"

He stopped. His head tilted to the side, a flash of light reflected from his black eyes.

"You're very cold," he stated matter of factly. "You would think that after being parted from your only son more than sixteen years, less than a year after his birth, I could expect a warmer reception. Some tears? A hug? No?"

Clary swallowed. "I'm sorry, Jonathan. So sorry. You don't know how much I've thought of you. How much I've wished things were different."

She could truly feel her mother's sorrow. She had accepted the loss of her son long ago but never stopped mourning him. She had mourned her lost child since the moment she first laid eyes on him and knew he would never belong to her.

"Oh, you're sorry," Jonathan sneered. "Well that makes up for rejecting me, abandoning me."

Jonathan stood tall, his legs slightly apart, his hands fisted on his hips. Clary remembered her first sight of him. How beautiful he seemed to her, like a fairy tale prince. And then she felt herself going numb. Starting from her fingertips, the paralyzing sensation spread through her body.

Oh no, she thought. What is it? What's happening? Her stomach turned over with dread. Is he doing something to me? Does he have … unnatural abilities … like Valentine?

She glanced up at Jonathan, who watched her, a puzzled expression on his face. No, it wasn't him. He wouldn't look that way if he was responsible. And then it was over. She fell to the floor, her head facing down, her hands splayed out.

"What are you doing?" Jonathan asked, his tone unconcerned but curious. "Am I supposed to believe you're so grief stricken that you couldn't hold yourself up any longer? Am I supposed to feel bad for you?"

She looked up and his derisive scowl vanished. He quickly went down on his knees next to her, held her up by the shoulders and stared into her eyes.

"How did you do that?" he asked astounded. "You were her. It wasn't just a mask. I'm right, aren't I?"

Clary was overcome by the compassion that seemed to flow from his words and his touch. She was confused and did not know how to respond. "Yes … yes, it's a new rune. Somehow I can … become another. I don't know how to control it … but you're right. I had her body, her memories, her feelings, I was her."

Jonathan's eyes lit up with excitement. "Can you do that with anybody? Can you become anyone you want?"

"No," she knew this implicitly. "It has to be someone you know, truly know. It can't be a stranger or someone you just think you know. You have to … feel the person, know that person well enough that you can see her … fully."

Jonathan's black eyes glistened and his hands remained firmly placed on her shoulders. She became keenly aware that all she was wearing was the robe and panties. She moved her hands to secure the belt and wrap the robe tighter around her small frame but he suddenly pulled her to him and kissed her. It was a deep and ardent kiss, unlike his usual light brush of lips. She almost unconsciously returned the kiss. She had grown used to a passionate tangle of bodies and lips but she caught herself and quickly pushed him away.

"What are you doing?" she bristled.

"I want you," he said simply. "You belong to me. You're everything I need."

Clary realized she was straining to keep him away from her, her hands rigid against his chest. He had not released his hold on her when she pushed him away. He gripped her tighter and he was very strong.

"Stop it. You're my brother. This is wrong," she hissed at him.

"Right and wrong doesn't apply to us," Jonathan spoke smoothly. "You know what I am. She told you … and look at what you can do. We are both the supernatural product of our father's experiments. We complement each other. We belong together."

"What do you mean?" she asked startled. "How did our father experiment on me?"

"Oh, she didn't know …" Jonathan seemed to consider this. "Valentine fed your mother angel's ichor while she was pregnant with you. That is how you've come by your gifts. Haven't you ever wondered? The same was fed to your angel boy … perhaps that's why you're … attracted to him." His mouth curled unpleasantly.

Clary was speechless and motionless. Jonathan seemed to take this reprieve in her struggle to get out of his arms to press her body closer which snapped Clary out of her stupor. They wrestled as she used all the force she could muster to push him off but his hold was like iron fetters and they ended up on the floor with him on top of her. His legs pushed hers apart and he positioned himself securely between them, his hands holding her wrists against the sides of her head.

"Stop it," she spoke with a confidence she did not possess, a sickening fear had lodged itself in her gut. "I don't belong to you. I'll never belong to you. I'm married now. You can see the runes."

He had been opening her robe with his teeth and enough of the fabric had fallen away from her breast to reveal the marriage rune on her chest. Clary could hardly breathe. And then … he stopped.

"You're right. You are married. You do belong to another. Our father … gave you away. He had no right to do that," he spit out maliciously but let her go and sat up. "But marriages don't last forever." His gaze was ruthless. "People separate. People die."

"You will not hurt him, Jonathan," Clary was livid now.

"Won't I?" Jonathan answered with a mocking smile. Then his face crumpled. "Don't you feel anything for me?"

He reached out and clutched her to him. By this time her robe was open and his hands wrapped around her bare waist, her naked breasts pushed against his chest. He lowered his head to her neck and she was stunned to feel his hot tears fall on her shoulder.

She knew she should push him away, discourage him, but she was overcome by the revelation that he actually seemed to feel something.

"Do you feel? Can you feel anything?" she asked, her mother's knowledge of her brother heavy in her heart.

He lifted his head and the intensity in his teary black gaze bewildered her. "I love you. Let me love you."

Clary pitied him. He had not chosen this life. Valentine was responsible for the deranged and unholy creature that Jonathan had become. As much as she wanted to disown them both, Valentine was her father and Jonathan was her brother. And while Valentine deserved to die for his insurmountable crimes, Jonathan … she cared for him. He was sick, incurably sick. How did you cleanse a soul from a demonic taint that was imbued as a fetus? He seemed sincere … his declarations of love for her … but what kind of love was it and why … how could he love? No, it was not love. Or rather it was the only type of love that Jonathan could ever understand, the type that destroyed.

Clary met his eyes with her own bright green inspection. Her gaze softened with heartbreak. She could not save Jonathan.

"I care for you, Jonathan. Very much," she said softly and took his face in her hands.

He beamed then and raised his hands from her waist up her back, rubbing it sensually.

"But not like that," she pulled back, conscious that she was almost completely exposed. She supposed it was better to put some distance between them and let him see her this way then to continue letting him press her practically naked body against him.

"Fine," he let her go and looked her up and down admiringly. "You're not ready yet. I can wait but when you finally give in you're going to wish you'd done it sooner." He sat back and smiled at her lasciviously. "I'll make you come so long, so hard, and so often you'll never even think of Jace again."

Clary quickly wrapped the robe around her and double knotted the belt. "That's just revolting. Don't talk to me that way." Her head spun from his wild mood swings.

He looked a little disappointed but got up and towered above her. "I have to get going now. Can't be here when dear old Dad gets back. I won't be gone long. I will come back for you," he said with a wink then strolled lazily out of the room.

* * *

Alec led the pack into the deserted ruins of Renwick. It was late with only the moonlight and stars above their heads providing any light to guide their path. That, and Alec's witchlight runestone. Much to Alec's consternation, Magnus was only a few steps behind him. He asked Magnus to stay behind but he wouldn't hear of it. Alec's sensor reading warned them to expect some demonic activity. Next to Magnus, was Izzy, geared up, her electrum whip looped in her hand, ready to fly out. He really wished Jace was with them. He never worried about a fight when Jace was in the lead, although he often worried for Jace, himself. And it always helped to have your parabatai in a battle. At least he knew Jace was alive. The parabatai rune remained bold and black on his forearm.

Behind the trio were more than thirty wolves vibrating with excitement, enthusiastic for a fight. They were angry about their slain brethren and seeking retribution. Luke had been busy since he left Magnus' loft and had managed to gather this collection of wolves, expecting many more in a short while but they did not have the time to wait for the others. He had also sent missives to the NY vampires and the Seelie Court but had only heard back from Raphael, the de facto leader of the vamps until Camille Belcourt returned from her extended travels. A formal meeting was arranged for the following day and Luke had asked Magnus to attend. Alec didn't like it but Magnus only smiled, kissed him softly and called him his sweet love when Alec asked him to stay out of it.

Alec could see lights on in the abandoned hospital. It was evidently no longer abandoned. He hoped he would see Jace again soon. He felt a surge of adrenaline course through is body and pocketed the runestone. There was enough light coming from the hospital to lead them forward. He held an arrow in one hand and the other arm handled the longbow over his shoulder to instantaneously load and release.

Luke moved ahead of him. "Whatever happens, whoever is left keeps looking for them, Jocelyn, Clary, Jace. Are we agreed?" Luke's eyes shimmered and stayed steadfast on Alec until he nodded his head.

Luke was now partially transformed to wolf. Long, razor sharp claws were hanging down at his knees and a snout appeared with a lengthy row of pointed teeth. The wolves behind him took this as a signal and changed to partial or full wolf form themselves. Alec briefly turned to see Izzy affectionately pat the head of one chocolate brown wolf who rolled its bright blue eyes at her and then licked her arm. Luke advanced toward a sturdy wooden door that was clearly a new replacement. A group of wolves followed him and hurled themselves violently against it.

The door collapsed and the wolves scattered back cautiously, forming a wide circle around the entrance. Strange shadows moved across the eerie yellow light that spilled out of the broken doorway. The wolves crouched down, readying to attack, as the looming, hulking shapes of the Forsaken came lumbering out of the door. A collective growl rumbled through the pack and then a frenzy of flying furry forms, grappling arms of the distended and misshapen Forsaken, the vicious snap of teeth and ripping claws and the abbreviated howls of wolves torn apart. Alec had found high ground in the form of a large protruding boulder, an excellent vantage point to aim and shoot. His arrows whistled through the air lodging deep into Forsaken eyes, effectively shutting off their damaged brains and ending their rampage.

Of course he kept an eye on Magnus who was shooting blue fames from his extended hands, a pyre of incinerated Forsaken a growing pile surrounding him. He saw Luke then who had reverted back to human form. He shouted something at Magnus and then ran through the door. They were still badly outnumbered. Alec fleetingly wondered if an entire town of people had inexplicably disappeared and been converted into these unfortunate monsters. He could not stop the barrage but he would protect Magnus and his sister. She seemed to be holding her own, her electrum whip lashing out and dismembering Forsaken limbs. The beasts writhed on the ground unable to continue their assault. And the brown wolf, Alec felt certain this was Simon, stayed closed by her side savagely attacking any Forsaken that ventured too close.

Alec realized he was running out of arrows. There were just too many of them. He slung the last one out of the quiver from his back and it quickly sunk deep into a Forsaken that had been reaching for Magnus, his focus and blue flames on a group of Forsaken in front of him ripping apart the downed bodies of wolves. Alec blew out a breath of relief when he felt the terrible grasp of a Forsaken's immense and unrelenting hands around his neck. It lifted him high, his feet kicking out in the air, trying to connect with something, anything. His arms flailed, trying to reach into his gear and pull out seraph blades when he met the Forsaken's ghastly, unfeeling, dead eyes and realized he lacked the strength to continue the fight. Magnus! Izzy! Jace! I love you, he thought, at the very end.

* * *

The door opened with a jolt and Jace rushed in with Valentine close behind him.

"Clary!" he called out and ran to her. He grabbed her, embraced her and buried his head in her hair.

"Was Jonathan here?" Valentine asked, his voice its customary controlled monotone but Clary could tell he was simmering with rage from the way he stood and the blaze in his eyes.

Both Jace and Valentine were torn and dirty from battle, the wear and tear on their gear and their flesh was evident. Healing runes had been applied and Clary could still see traces of the curved white lines on their skin.

"What happened to you?" she asked, her hands went up into Jace's golden curls and then lowered to massage his neck. "You're okay?" She turned to kiss his jawline.

"I'm fine," mumbled Jace. He kept his head down, moving it back and forth, his hands going up and down her back. She could feel the anxiety that had his body all strung up gradually easing.

Clary turned her eyes back to Valentine. She wasn't sure how to answer him … about Jonathan. She didn't know what to do about Jonathan but she would not leave him to Valentine's mercy. The man had no compassion, no forbearance. But she didn't have to answer Valentine's question after all. The fire storming from his black eyes had changed. They had turned to wonder and exultant anticipation.

"You have it. You have the cup," Valentine breathed.

Damn him. Damn him and his diabolical senses. He knew. He knew just like he knew the card was the key. She had hoped to keep it hidden from him at least until her two day deadline was up, give her some time to try to come up with a plan to foil Valentine and save Jace. Since Jonathan had left she had showered, for quite a while trying to wash away the feel of his hands on her body and the disgusting words that she could not force out of her mind, and dressed.

"Give it to me. Give me the cup," he commanded.

Clary looked at him around Jace's back. They still held onto each other tightly. It seemed Jace was unwilling to let her go and she was always content in his arms but she could see Valentine was losing his patience and the hammering pulse of the artery on his neck.

"Jace, let go, Sweetheart," she murmured in his ear. "I need to get the cup for Valentine." She gently moved her hands to his waist.

He unclasped his hands and loosened his hold on her. He stepped back, his head still bowed, when suddenly he whipped his head back and cried out in agony gripping the parabatai rune below his bicep.

"Alec!" Jace screamed and fell to his knees.


	27. Chapter 27 All Cut Up

**I tried to pack it all in and finish the story in this Chapter but nope, couldn't do it. Some of you are too good at guessing what's going to happen next … so if you've guessed, don't ruin it! Anywho, I didn't want to keep you waiting much longer for an update – especially you, ReadingIsMyReality. I'll be back.**

 **Love ya!**

* * *

Jace stayed on the floor, his eyes squeezed shut, his hand clamped over the parabatai rune on his arm. After a few moments, he exhaled loudly whispering, "Alec," and let his hand fall from his arm. His eyes were still closed but the agony on his face was gone. Clary was on the floor in front of him, both hands on his shoulders, watching him intently. She lowered her gaze to the rune on his arm. It was an unfamiliar pale gray color but as she watched it darkened to its usual ebony. She sighed. Something had happened to Alec. Something traumatic. But he lived. If he had not survived the rune would have faded leaving only a bare imprint in its place. She folded her arms over Jace and she felt him collapse against her. It was the second time that a boy shed tears on her shoulders today but of course this time was different. This time it was the boy, the man, she loved utterly and completely and every tear that fell from his eyes multiplied from her own. They clutched each other, both of them weeping, finding comfort in their shared grief.

"He's alive. He's alive," she spoke quietly into his ear.

Jace turned his head into her neck, kissed it and whispered, "I love you. I love you so much."

Then their lips met and fiercely inhaled each other. Their hands started to roam along the other's body when Valentine interrupted them.

"That's enough," he said in a low but firm tone.

They had both completely forgotten his presence and the fact did not seem to escape his reluctant amusement. They ended their kiss but still had their arms around each other and turned to look up at Valentine who had a mildly irritated look on his face.

"Three hundred feet. Make that three thousand. Once I'm back at the Manor, you may carry on," he informed them. "Now Clary, the cup."

Clary got to her feet and made her way to the closet. As she reached for the cup ensconced under some linens at the back she heard Valentine speaking to Jace.

"So, Alec Lightwood, he's your parabatai. I gather you felt him die," Valentine said conversationally. "But he's been revived."

Jace stayed silent.

"Of course, this is not uncommon for Nephilim," Valentine lectured morbidly. "One day he will die the final death and he will not return. You must face this reality."

Clary grabbed the cup and hurried out. She was afraid of how Valentine's words would affect Jace. He was understandably still shaken by recent events. Who knew what had happened to Alec. Whatever it was, it was bad.

"Here it is, father," she held the gold cup out to her father. She knew it was wrong. The last thing she should do is give this monster the cup, enable his despicable plans. She just couldn't fight the primary instinct to protect Jace. She had to do whatever she could to keep him safe. There was no other choice.

Valentine took it in his hands and cradled it close to him. The smallest smile escaped his lips and he stepped back from the room.

"We will talk later," he commented then whipped around and left them.

Clary moved quickly to Jace and pulled him up from the floor. She guided him to the bed and pushed him down onto it, then removed his boots and soiled gear. Jace let her take control. He remained slack and while Clary could still see his love for her in his burning eyes she could also see how unsettled and distraught he was over Alec.

"He's alive. That's the most important thing," she tried to comfort Jace. He was only in his black boxer briefs at this point. "Come, take a shower with me," she said softly and led him into the bathroom.

She turned on the water making sure the temperature was comfortably warm. She turned around then and stripped out of her clothes and reached for him. Jace raised his eyebrows and it was easy to see his desire bubbling up but all she wanted was to comfort and take care of him. She slid off his briefs and moved him into the shower. The warm water streamed down their bodies and she held him from the back, her hands moving along his toned chest and abdomen, feeling the imprint of runes and lightly tracing the healing wounds he had recently acquired. She took a washcloth and squeezed some shower gel on it. A lush scent of citrus filled the steamy space.

She handled him very gently, trying to impart all her love and her overpowering need to treasure and protect him as she moved the washcloth all over his body. Each swipe of the cloth was followed by a kiss to every part of him. When she reached between his legs, it was stiff and throbbing but she treated it the same way she treated every other part of his hard body, with a soft and tender caress of her hand and the washcloth and then a kiss. Although, she let the kiss linger a little longer here and sucked on the engorged head. He pulled her up and when she looked into his eyes all she could see was his complete surrender to her.

"I need you. I love you," he told her. Then his mouth came down on hers, his body bending over to press her entirely to him.

* * *

A fuzzy image of Magnus' wildly disarrayed hair spikes was the first thing he saw. He wanted to ask Magnus if he was alright but he couldn't get the words out. He wanted to raise his arms and place them around Magnus but he couldn't do that either. The best he could do was a slight shift to his body with a heavy inhalation of breath but it was enough. Magnus lifted his head. He looked thoroughly depleted, deep dark hallows under his eyes, his skin sallow, and it was obvious it took all his effort to raise his head but his expression abruptly changed from anguish to an overwhelming peace and a smile formed on his lips.

"Alec," Magnus whispered. "You're still with me. You're going to be fine."

Magnus slowly turned his head. "Iz … he's back. The runes …" and then Magnus fell back, his power drained and his energy wholly expended.

Alec desperately wanted to get up and help Magnus but he couldn't feel anything. He couldn't move anything. Then Izzy appeared before him, her eyes were red and swollen. She had been crying, something Alec had not witnessed for many years. She pulled out her stele and Alec could feel that, the sting of the iratze healing runes that she generously applied all over him. As he felt the effect of the runes advance through his body, the sharp pain of knitting bones and mending tissue made his body arch and finally he could make a sound, a loud excruciating scream.

* * *

Luke did not want to contaminate her beauty with his bloody touch but he could not resist skimming her soft cheek with the back of his hand. She was here. He had finally found her. It was just as Clary had described. Jocelyn slept and could not wake by ordinary means but Luke thought he saw her eyes move rapidly beneath her closed lids when he discovered her. He felt as if she knew he was here with her, that she was finally safe. So many lives, gone, but he had found her. He wished she was his, that he could take her in his arms and kiss her the way he always wanted but she was not his to hold and love. She was the person closest to him, someone who knew him inside and out but did not love him the way he always loved her. Still, he was grateful. He found her. That was enough.

"Jocelyn" he spoke softly. "I'm here. I'll always be here for you. I will find Clary. I promise."

The wolves had done very well. Their number had been cut down by half but they had managed to wipe out a large horde of Forsaken. Luke had lost count after fifty but he knew there would have been much greater losses without the shadowhunters and Magnus. When he last saw them, Magnus was working feverishly over Alec. He looked dead. Luke hoped for Magnus' sake that he saved the boy. He was a good kid, a good heart, not something he would have expected from a Lightwood.

Luke looked around. Was there anything here that could tell him where Valentine was and where he kept Clary? It was a small room and seemed set up only to contain Jocelyn's slumbering form. Luke would have to explore the rest of the dilapidated building but he did not want to leave Jocelyn. It would have to wait a little longer, he thought, until another could stay with her, protect her.

* * *

Valentine sat in his library, stroking the cup. Finally, he had it. Finally, he would achieve his ambitions. But, he still had the meeting with Asmodeus to arrange. Jonathan's actions were inexcusable. He had never believed Jonathan was capable of such subversion, not against him. It was Clary. She was the root of so much misery in his life. First his beloved, then his son, his finely honed weapon; both betrayed him for her. He had the cup now. He had little use for her now. In fact she may prove an impediment. He did not need his special sensibilities to know her aversion, her aims to undermine him. And with her talents, she did pose a threat. He did not like to acknowledge that such a slight whip of a girl could trouble him but he was not one to avoid harsh realities.

He would have to deal with her but what of Jace? There was no denying the fact that the boy cherished her. He would rebel against Valentine. He would face death to kill him if he believed Valentine extinguished her. It was an annoyance. He still had every intention to keep Jace. He had forgotten the pride and delight the boy induced from him. Watching the way Jace had superbly handled the demon troops, no hesitation, no apprehension, had been eye opening.

"Where is he?" Jace's inner voice rang out in Valentine's head and it was then that Valentine realized Jonathan was responsible.

Jonathan had foiled his carefully constructed meeting. It was at that moment that Valentine could feel fear leak into Jace's heart and then the demons were able to penetrate his unfocused blocks and spins and he incurred the slight injuries that he had easily fended off before his jumbled worries took hold. Valentine understood then through their bond of unspoken thoughts. Jace feared for Clary. Jace was convinced that Jonathan had deserted them to molest Clary, unhindered by their distracted absence. She was his weakness. Without his panic for her sake, he could be unstoppable.

"Yes, I will have to eliminate her," Valentine spoke aloud to cement his thoughts.

"So, first you give her away and now you would destroy her?" Jonathan's low voice was clear and unconcerned but the animosity rolled off him and he held Phaesphoros out, perfectly arranged to slash and strike. "I see you've obtained the cup. Clary, I imagine, has completed her task and is now … expendable?"

Jonathan stood some distance away from Valentine, across the room.

"Put down the sword, Jonathan. Come and take your punishment as a man," Valentine uttered distastefully.

Valentine opened a drawer in his desk and placed the cup inside. Then he flattened his hands on the hard wooden surface and deliberately got up. He watched Jonathan loosen his rigid stance, the angle of the sword drooping ever so slightly.

"I know you think you can take over, do without me," Valentine spoke confidently, "but believe me, son, you do not possess the discipline, the control, the years of knowledge hard earned at the expense of so many souls. You cannot wrest the mantle from me. Not without grave, fatal injury to yourself."

Valentine moved like liquid around his desk.

"It's true. I could not do what you do. Not without your knowledge," Jonathan responded.

And then suddenly Valentine felt the cold metal pierce his chest. He saw the pointed end of it come through his chest. The shock of it was blindingly intense. Valentine's hands went up to confirm what he was staring down at and the razor sharp edge cut his fingers.

"I've learned a few tricks of my own, without your help, after all these years," Jonathan explained behind him.

The image of Jonathan on the opposite end of the room was clear for another moment but then dissolved away.

"You fool," Valentine rasped. "You have no idea what you've done. Azazel will come … and destroy you …"

Valentine slumped down, his hands hit the floor with a loud smack, holding up his upper body, his legs useless on the floor.

"Don't concern yourself with that father," Jonathan came closer to whisper in Valentine's ear. "Soon, I will know everything and I will see all your dreams to fruition … with me, ruling, at the top."

He laughed at the frozen look on Valentine's face. Jonathan pulled out the sword and Valentine pitched forward, his blank eyes wide open.

* * *

They had eventually left the shower when the water spurting from the shower head went cold and naturally gravitated to the bed. Clary was on top of Jace, riding him frantically. His hands gripped her waist and pumped her up and down on top of him. Both their heads jerked back as they reached their orgasm simultaneously and she sank down on top of him. She wondered vaguely how many times they could peak in one day and couldn't help smiling at the notion that they would undoubtedly find out soon. Jace was stroking her back blissfully when he stopped all at once and his entire body tensed.

"Valentine … he needs me. I have to go." Jace slid out from under her and was swiftly dressing in his gear.

Clary looked up at him puzzled but got up and helped him zipper up and snap on the various buckles. "What's wrong? What happened?"

Jace had a strangely eager expression on his face. "It's Jonathan. He's at the Manor library with Valentine. Valentine is calling me. I'm going to kill Jonathan."

Clary's fingers stopped moving over a clasp by his waist. "I'm coming with you."

"No," Jace was loading up his gear and weapon's belt with blades and daggers. "I won't be able to think straight if you're there. I need to know you're safe."

"But –," Clary began.

"No," Jace placed his hands firmly over hers. "I promise I will come back for you. I love you more than anything. I have to do this. I have to know he can never touch you." Jace's golden eyes were adamant. Clary knew she would not be able to sway him.

"Be careful. I can't live without you," she whispered and moved up to kiss him.

He held her head with his hands, her red hair curling over his fingers. Their kiss was deep and passionate but quick. Then he turned and raced out of the room.

* * *

Clary stood still, her eyes trained on the door, willing Jace to return to her safe and completely intact. She could still feel him inside her and she relished the slow sticky wetness that seeped out. She knew she should get washed and dressed but she was too anxious. He couldn't seriously think she would be able to sit around and wait for him to return. She had to do something, make sure he was safe.

And Jonathan. What to do about Jonathan? In a way it would be better if Jace did kill him. Jonathan was just … too damaged. She wondered at what he may be capable of, what kind of mayhem such a creature would unleash on the world. Yes, he had retained something of his humanity. Something slight that allowed him to want her, that saw her as some kind of salvation, but she knew better. She knew he would destroy her if he could. He wanted her to join him and that would slay Jace. She swiftly moved to the desk and pulled out the stele. Something dawned on her then. Something Dorothea had told her took precedence over all her thoughts and wandering mind. She moved to a blank wall and drew the stark slashes and box that inwardly made her cringe. The glow was bright and threatening.

"Jace … Herondale," she spoke to it.

A war of lightning strikes and zig zagging lines clashed in front of her. The scene that appeared was fuzzy and the colors were dampened by a shadow but he was there. She could see him. It was many years later when he had fully accepted the Herondale name. He was not a young man but still glorious. Taller and broader than he was now. His shoulders seemed heavy carrying the weight of the world against their well-muscled expanse. He was dressed formally with a long, dark cloak that could not conceal his trim hard body. It was difficult to see the expression on his face but he looked … flinty, stern. She felt a little shock seeing him this way, without the warmth, the love that always seemed to emanate from his golden eyes when they looked at her … but he was alive. He was older. He would survive and was surrounded by … opulence, a palatial setting. Floor to ceiling crystal windows were evident behind him. Everything looked rich, impressive. At the side of a smooth stone wall was a massive gold statue that looked like … him. There was a giant sculpted effigy celebrating him. He would make his mark, just as she always knew he would. There was no other possibility. Of course he would be revered, famous.

He sat down behind a grand marble desk. Everything was gleaming. He pulled out a small frame from the top drawer of the desk. She could not see what he studied but she saw everything she needed to see. There was her Jace. The cold look evaporated and was replaced by the vibrant spirit, the ardor she loved about him. Jace lived. He would be fine. She could feel her hold over the vision weaken and only caught one last glance at a small, long haired, redhead move toward him. She was very young. Clary gasped when she took in the girl's features, her golden eyes, her pronounced beauty. He would have a daughter. He would not pass from this world without an heir. She sighed, so grateful for this precious glimpse into the future. She no longer felt the painful constriction in her heart that she carried since that last vision with Jace but … but what did it mean? How would it all come to pass?

* * *

Jace was racing up to the Manor, everything around him a blur. And then the unthinkable happened. Jace felt an icy cold pierce his chest. He was so shocked by this sensation that he skidded to a halt and looked down in amazement when the silver collar around his neck fell off into his hands. Valentine … was dead. His final unspoken words to Jace, my son … I … regret. And that was it. Jace came to the stunning conclusion that Jonathan had in fact slaughtered their father when the fiend himself appeared before him.

"Ah, the prodigal. So glad you obliged by coming to meet me. Really didn't want to make Clary watch me end you. She's ridiculously attached to you. I don't think she'd forgive me if she actually had to witness me do the deed." Jonathan's smile seemed to radiate in the dusky hour.

"You killed him. You killed our father," Jace spoke darkly. "I thought at least your allegiance with him was true." He pulled two seraph blades and muttered the names Dumah and Emmanuel. The white sheath of light surrounded him and lit him up like an avenging angel.

"He was hardly our father. He loved _you_ like a son and had a hand in _my_ actual conception, I grant you, but hardly a true father to either of us," Jonathan spoke leisurely. "I'm going to enjoy ending you. And then I will take my sister back. I will take what has always belonged to me."

Jace could feel the fury vibrate through his body and looked down to see his hands trembling with rage. "If you lay a hand on her—"

"You'll do what?" Jonathan scoffed. "You'll be dead."

"She's your sister. What do you want with her?" Jace yelled at him.

"She's more than that," Jonathan's black eyes were glowing orbs. "She is my intended. She will bear me many children … after I have eradicated you. You must be removed. She can see nothing else while you linger."

"You sick piece of shit," Jace growled. "I will never let you near her."

"Just so," Jonathan answered. "Show me."

They leaped at each other, neither holding anything back. The clash of their weapons so loud and so forceful the ground seemed to shudder. Jonathan was surprised that Jace blocked each of his deadly precision strikes. Every twist and hammer of Phaesphoros' razor sharp edge was met by the white blaze of Jace's seraph blades.

"I will take her," Jonathan hissed out at Jace. He twirled effortlessly away from the sweeping glance of the seraphs as they chopped down at him. "I'm going to fuck her and she will learn to love it."

Jonathan could feel the outrage pulse through Jace. There were many more incendiary comments Jonathan planned to spit out at Jace but they scattered from his thoughts when he felt the surgical slice of Jace's beaming seraph blade just below his wrist. He watched in confounded horror as his hand, still gripping the sword, flew away from him, clattering to the ground. He performed an immediate twist and leap backwards and upward, landing on a tree limb over thirty feet in the air watching Jace below jump into the space he had just vacated, the two seraphs in his hand whipping wide circles.

That detestable stray cut off his hand! Jonathan tore at the undershirt he wore beneath his gear and bound the wound to stem the bleeding. He could barely feel the pain. The many years of harsh treatment under his father had trained him well how to deal with pain. His other hand was still good and the handless arm was strong. He would not have much time before Jace figured out where he went. Even now, Jace moved to inspect the detached hand gripping the sword. He would see the ring and he would know that Jonathan could not teleport back to the apartment. Jonathan squatted down, pulled a dagger from his belt and thrust it down at Jace. He had hoped to spear Jace's golden head with the blade plunging through a golden eye but Jace seemed to feel the air part as the dagger plummeted down and about a foot away from its target, he turned. But he was not quite quick enough to dodge the knife altogether and it sunk into his shoulder.

Jace grunted and fell back. The brunt of the hurled dagger drove him down to the ground. Jonathan knew this was his moment and vaulted down on top of Jace, kicking out at the wounded shoulder and then a rapid spiral and snap to his head. He fell on Jace using his elbows and remaining fist to pummel his face. He tumbled away, grabbed his separated limb and pulled the sword from its grip.

"A head for a hand," Jonathan yelled as he lunged back at Jace and slashed through the air. The sword descended down toward Jace's head and was arrested by Jace's extended hands.

Jonathan felt a stab of unease. Phaesphoros never failed to pass through flesh and after a brisk intake of breath, it did not disappoint as it severed the tops of Jace's hands leaving only his thumbs on the remaining ruined appendages. Jace did not make a sound but collapsed backwards, his eyes glazed over with unmistakable pain. Jonathan folded his bloody stump into his side as he sauntered over to Jace.

"Just when I think I could not possibly loathe you more, you prove me wrong yet again." Jonathan stood over Jace. Blood was streaming out of his hands.

Jace whipped his legs around, sweeping across the ground and threw a powerful kick out and heard the satisfying crack of Jonathan's fibula splitting as he buckled forward. Jace sprang up and lunged toward Jonathan, aiming to stomp his face to mash but the flash of the black silver sword stopped him short. Jace lay on the ground, his face down against the dewy grass, his mind blank with confusion. What just happened, he thought and the dizzying vertigo in his head informed him he was losing blood, a lot of blood, too much blood. Jace's thoughts had grown muddy and he could just barely make out Jonathan's cackling and then a rough grunt of pain.

"At least I can heal this," Jonathan growled. "I'm afraid there's no healing your injuries."

Jonathan had drawn iratzes on his broken leg and slipped the stele back in his gear. He massaged his leg, feeling the runes rebuild the broken bone. "Although, I have you to thank for this." Jonathan held up his handless arm. "But you're missing so much more," he laughed.

Jace managed to open his eyes to glare at Jonathan and realized the ground below him was sodden with blood. When he moved his head to assess the damage he saw he was missing his legs, cleaved at an angle, above his knees, straight through his thighs.

"Clary," Jace rasped out. "Don't hurt her. Kill me, do what you want with me. Please leave her alone."

"What would I want with you?" Jonathan asked sneeringly. "I've only ever wanted you dead." Jonathan gingerly lifted himself up, testing his injured leg. He slowly walked around Jace then knelt down and applied iratzes to his legs. "That should stop the bleeding."

"What are you doing?" Jace moaned out.

"I think I'll keep you around … at least a bit longer," Jonathan observed Jace, a disgusted look on his face. "Let Clary see you for the worm you are … and you can watch me ascend to my rightful place with my sister, my partner, at my side."

Jonathan stood straight and grinned at Jace tauntingly. "I'm really quite put out with you." He nodded at his stump. "Maybe I'll cut something else off before I'm finished with you."

Jace quailed as he recognized he was losing consciousness. He could not leave her alone with him. He could not let this happen.

"You're pathetic," Jonathan said looking down at Jace. "I think I'll pay a visit to my darling sister. Don't go anywhere." Jonathan turned and walked swiftly away.

"Clary!" Jace screamed. The darkness was closing in. He was desperate to reach her. "Clary!" his hoarse voice wheezed out before the blackness took him.


	28. Chapter 28 This is the End

Luke had found his way to a large high ceilinged room. A grand oak table was placed at the center. The whole setting was quite ornate and unusual considering the ruins that housed it. He walked around the room, fingering the rich fabrics, gliding his hand along the hard surfaces. It was all kept remarkably clean and free of dust. He wondered idly if Pangborn or Blackwell had kept the place so well polished. Neither would be doing any more cleaning. They were both dead. Pangborn at his own hands and Blackwell by a band of wolves that had followed him into the depths of Renwick's Hospital.

He had left Jocelyn with Gretchen. She promised to watch Jocelyn, a blood oath. Nothing would happen to Jocelyn while Gretchen drew breath. Now Luke's objective was to find Clary and he would do that. He would not be stopped. Luke came across a thick, draped curtain. The fabric was a heavy, rich, burgundy velvet. Luke let his fingers flow across the velvet and felt a smooth glass like surface behind it. That was odd. He was aware of enough of the building layout, it walls and entrances, to know there could be no window behind these drapes. He pulled at the fabric and came face to face with a swirling silver gray portal. He did not touch the surface but held his face close enough to see a dark moonlit path, rich greenery everywhere and a large, imposing Manor House further along the pathway. The manor looked vaguely familiar. Idris, thought Luke. This portal leads to Idris. And hadn't they guessed that Valentine had kept Clary and Jocelyn hidden in Idris when they first questioned Clary at the wolf station? His first instinct was to leap through the portal and discover the truth but no, he needed to gather the remains of his pack. He doubted he could take down Valentine alone and more importantly he had to make sure he could retrieve Clary alive and well. He could not leave it all to chance.

Luke wished he could ask Magnus and even the shadowhunter youths to join him. They had proven themselves as fierce and invaluable allies but Magnus was in no shape to wake let alone get up and fight another unknown possessed swarm. And Alec would need some time to recover. He had been badly hurt and was only barely resuscitated. He would check with Isabelle. She was uninjured for the most part and may want to accompany him. After all it wasn't just Clary they were searching for, there was Jace as well. As Luke stared into the portal he felt another sharp driving impulse to run through. Clary needed him. He heard footsteps behind him and swiveled around. It was Alaric, one of his trusted lieutenants.

"Alaric, I'm glad you're here," Luke started. "Gather the others, whoever can stand and fight. We go to Idris."

* * *

Clary was laying out the arsenal she would need when she heard the sound of a rustled entrance behind her. She turned eagerly expecting Jace. Instead she was met by her brother's ghastly visage. He was greatly wounded and missing a hand, practically covered in blood and gore. But remarkably, he looked quite pleased with himself, a satisfied smile on his face, his white teeth shining in the lamplight.

Clary's heart stopped. "Where is Jace?" she asked him.

"He's lying around somewhere," Jonathan answered breezily. "Don't worry. He isn't dead," he continued when he saw the distress on her face. "Although, he probably wishes he was. If you think this is something," he twirled to give her a full view of his injuries, "I can guarantee, Jace is a masterpiece."

Clary pulled out two seraph blades and called out Af and Hashmal, the white blaze criss crossing. "What have you done with him?"

"Really?" Jonathan's mouth dropped. "I could have killed him. Easily. But I saved him for you and this is how you thank me?"

"Where is he?!" she roared and Jonathan flinched back.

He moved so fast she could barely keep up but he was obviously not at his best and he was missing his favored right hand. He whipped out Phaesphoros but he did not handle it to strike her. She could tell he maneuvered defensively but she didn't care. Though, she didn't want him dead. She had to know. She needed him to tell her where Jace was and … what he did to him.

Her twin seraphs came hammering down on him and she could feel him struggling to keep his broad sword up to deflect her attack. Finally, he swung away and she found him across the room, more than twenty feet away.

"Stop, Clary," he warned. "I don't want to hurt you."

She crouched to spring at him.

"We need each other. You give me what I want and I'll give you what you want," he continued.

Clary stiffened, "You know what I want. What do you want?"

He was still in a fighting stance, ready to parry or wield his sword for an assault. "I want the rune, the one to transform."

Clary watched him silently and then said, "Tell me what you did with Jace."

"Let's just say, you two won't be enjoying any romantic strolls," Jonathan snorted, "and don't count on any hand holding either."

"Oh my God," Clary heaved. "What have you done?"

"That's right," Jonathan answered deprecatingly. "Use your imagination. The reality is infinitely worse."

Clary realized she was trembling and forced her body still. "But he's alive. That's what you said."

"Yes, that's what I said," Jonathan placated her. "But these things can be tricky. You know that's a great deal of shock for a body to experience. Who knows? He may be dying this very moment. He'd probably want to share his last moments with you."

Clary gritted her teeth. "Why do you want the rune? Who could you possibly transform into?"

"Do you want Jace or not?" Jonathan answered testily. "Because you're running out of time."

Clary dropped her blades and walked over to him with her stele out. Jonathan smiled and sheathed Phaesphoros back into the scabbard hooked on his belt.

"I knew you could be reasonable," he said satisfied.

"How do I know you'll honor our agreement?" she asked, the stele hovering over his arm

"Why would I lie? I do not lie to you," Jonathan spoke serenely and looked at her tenderly.

Clary felt ill from the way his eyes caressed her. "Why? Why would you allow me to reunite with Jace?

Jonathan sighed, "Because he no longer matters. You'll see. He can do nothing to me. And he can do nothing for you. I want you to see him."

Clary forced herself to be brave. She would be strong. She thought of Jace, how she loved his steadfast courage and resilience. She would adopt his iron will. She would not be weak or give up. She slowly traced the rune on Jonathan's inner forearm. They both watched as it blazed a heated red.

"How long will it last?" Jonathan asked strangely subdued.

"I don't know. I don't know how to control it but that one time I used it, it remained for almost two hours," Clary answered looking at his endless glittering black eyes.

"How? How do I change?" Jonathan held her wrist as if that would impart the knowledge he needed.

"First, you tell me where is Jace?" Clary said firmly.

Jonathan's eyes narrowed. He seemed to be gauging her. "He's on the path to the Manor House, by the large ash tree."

Clary bit down on her lip. She would not cry. She knew it had to be bad if Jace was lying so close by but hadn't returned to her. "You must envision the one you wish to transform into. See this person, fully, wholly. You must know the person intimately for it to work."

"Very well," he nodded.

They both looked down at the rune. The furious red flame seemed to twist and turn, changing from red to blue then white and back to red again.

She didn't know how he had hidden it from her but he then pulled out something long and thin wrapped in a thick cloth.

He placed it gingerly on the desk and looked back at her. "I've brought you a gift. It belongs to you," he said reverently.

He reached out and brought her gently to his chest with his unmarred arm and kissed the top of her head very softly. She did not fight him, only watching him searchingly.

"I will come back for you. The next time you see me, you will not be able to refuse me," Jonathan declared with conviction.

Then he turned and departed with surprising alacrity. She rushed over to the desk and pulled the fabric away from what it encased. It was a black silver and gold sword, a smaller version of Phaesphoros, a short sword. It was beautiful and it was hers. It was a Morgenstern sword and she was a Morgenstern. She knew she had seen this sword before, the engraved stars falling from the heavens and it wasn't just its apparent matching theme to its long sword partner. There were other subtle differences beside its size. And then she knew. She knew where she had seen it and what she had to do. Her heart stopped a beat but she wasted no time locating the notepad and poured her soul into the words she wrote hurriedly. She was in a rush, an anxious panic to get to Jace seeping through her core. Then there were runes to apply. She worked speedily but carefully. It was the most important thing she had ever done in her life.

* * *

"Of course, I'll come," Izzy said a bit exasperated. The light imprint of healing runes were still apparent on her skin and she newly applied strength and rejuvenation runes to restore her energy for the work ahead.

Luke watched her almost wishing he could take the runes as well, but that was impossible now. He looked down at Magnus and Alec. They had both been laid out side by side on a large king sized bed in another opulently furnished room that Luke suspected had been occupied by Valentine. He certainly wished runes could be applied to Magnus. His healing talent was amazing. He had literally brought Alec back from the dead although Alec had only been gone for a few seconds but Luke had never known any other warlock to accomplish this feat. However, it had clearly taken a great toll and it seemed certain Magnus would not be up and around for quite some time.

Alaric entered the room. "There are nine of us that can continue," he informed Luke, his head slightly lowered submissively.

"Good," Luke nodded. "Come, we go through the portal."

Luke walked out of the bedroom with Izzy, Simon and Alaric following him. Luke felt a painful tightness in his heart. He did not want to leave Jocelyn so soon after finding her but he could not delay any longer. He couldn't shake the feeling that the portal would lead him to Clary and that she needed him … desperately.

* * *

He was fighting with everything he had, battling with himself to pull out of the murky blackness and regain consciousness. He would not lie here helpless. Whatever he could do, he would do and somehow his steely resolve propelled him. His eyelids fluttered open and he was no longer sure where he was or what had happened but he knew the bright white light that greeted him awake was definitely not … right. It was like opening your eyes underwater. Nothing was clear. The bright light only made it more difficult to see anything but then he could see an outline. A golden creature, luminous and true? Somehow that was the word that came to him. This incredible being before him, this transcendent angel dropped golden tears on his face and then …. the sting. It hurt. It hurt like nothing had ever hurt before.

"Reconstruct," the angel whispered and then the feel of a light breeze ruffling his hair.

Jaced tried his best to fight it. He clawed against it but he lost. The pain was too great and he lost consciousness again.

* * *

Jonathan was drawn to the sandy patch of field a distance from the Manor but still part of the estate. It was where Valentine had called on Lilith and struck a bargain. His child would be her child. She would pledge her allegiance to him and she gave him her blood to seal the pact.

He knew now that Valentine admired him, prized him, but also resented him. In the same vein as his deep hatred of Clary, he also blamed Jonathan for turning his one love, his wife, against him. Of course he would never fully admit this since doing so would lead to the truth that Valentine was responsible. Valentine was at fault for all the wretchedness his life had become, the loss of all he had held dear. If Jonathan had not been turned into a demon thing, Jocelyn would have loved the child and would have had no reason to turn from Valentine. All of his efforts afterwards to attain power, glory, preeminence over the Clave was his way to show her what she had given up and when she came crawling back he would generously forgive her … eventually.

Jonathan found all these insights mildly fascinating but in the end none of it was terribly surprising. He had always known Valentine's true nature, the torch that never burnt out for his deserting wife, the way he punished Jonathan for an existence he created. What was more interesting was Valentine's uncertainty surrounding Clary and even Jace. He did not know what they would eventually become. Clary's abilities were viewed as an immediate threat. There were just too many possibilities, unknown variables that she could unlock. She was a wildcard and Valentine had learned from long experience that wildcards were dangerous. As for Jace, well Jonathan wished his father were alive to witness what had befallen Jace. Jace would never make Valentine proud the way Valentine had envisioned. But Jace would join Valentine soon and that was ultimately what his father had always wanted. His son, his golden boy, Jace, by his side. The one thing his father had not twisted and broken apart. Jonathan was surprised to actually feel Valentine's sorrow as he recognized that was precisely what Jonathan had done, torn Valentine's angel apart.

He drew the runes on the ground and created the ashen circle to complete the work his father had started. It was surprising that a man who was always thinking five steps ahead and played these demon rulers like pawns had not possessed the foresight to anticipate his demise at Jonathan's hand. But … it hadn't been until Clary conceived the transformation rune that Jonathan liberated himself. He no longer needed Valentine. He had the secrets Valentine kept hidden from him. He had full access to Valentine's life, his studies. So, he supposed in the end Valentine was right. He should have killed Clary. Except he had been too late and now he lay discarded in his grand library where he had spent so many hours plotting and strategizing.

The circle was done and Jonathan spoke the words. He only had to call Asmodeus' name to safely summon the demon king and solidify Valentine's plans to betray Azazel. Keep him bound in a new set of chains and ensure this world would belong to Valentine … Jonathan … alone. Valentine knew Azazel could not be trusted to keep his destructive sights off this world and Valentine had no intention to share it. He would take the power Azazel granted him and then reveal his other agreement with Asmodeus. Asmodeus did not want to see Azazel free and ascend above him but he cared little for what Valentine wanted or for the populace in this world other than causing any misery he could feed from. And what he truly desired was an immortal life. It would add to his own powers and it always gave him a thrill to extinguish something that had been blessed with an eternity to thrive. Valentine would give Asmodeus the depleted ruins of the angel, Ithuriel, that he had chained up and spent decades experimenting on. Still, Asmodeus would gladly take it. Even Valentine had been reluctant to give it up. As wasted as it was, there was boundless strength from its blood and it could not die … not without help. Regardless, it was worth the trade. Asmodeus would take Ithuriel and he would construct a new set of chains that would bind Azazel and keep him captive, away from Valentine and his world.

Jonathan drew air into his chest and was on the verge of calling Asmodeus when a glance of gold caught his eyes. He turned swiftly and was astonished to see Jace. He was standing tall, his limbs intact and whole but still bloody and beaten. A fire raged in his golden eyes that Jonathan could actually feel burning him.

"How?" Jonathan asked, his eyes wide with wonder.

Jace drew out a sword and was instantaneously standing in front of him, the sharp point pitted into his chest. Jonathan could feel the prick of it and the dampening wetness of blood spreading from the cut.

"Why? Why do you want this? I see what you're doing. What you've written on these runes. You call Asmodeus" Jace asked him. His hands were steady but Jonathan could detect some slight misgiving, preventing him from driving forward and slicing through him.

"It's all I ever knew. It's all I could ever be … and once I have more power than any other living creature on this world, Clary will love me. I will be everything for her," Jonathan spoke almost remorsefully.

Jace's eyes widened fractionally, "Jonathan …"

Jonathan moved fast but strangely he knew Jace could end him with a determined push of his hands and yet he didn't. He stood there, the sword an inch deep into Jonathan's chest, as Jonathan pulled out Phaesphoros and drove the gleaming long sword straight through Jace.

The blaze in Jace's eyes did not die out as Jonathan would have expected. They seemed to smoulder as Jace dropped down, his gaze never leaving Jonathan's face until a final breath rattled out. "Goodbye, brother."

Jonathan watched Jace fall back, Phaesphoros still upright in his chest, and did not move until he felt certain Jace was truly gone. He could not imagine how Jace had put himself back together and why he had not killed Jonathan himself but he would not waste any more time trying to understand the fool. Valentine's lionhearted golden boy was finally gone and had barely put up a fight in the end. But somehow Jonathan did not feel like gloating. It had been too easy and disquieting. It vexed him that he did not understand Jace's motives. For all his talk, in the end, he had decided to lie down and die.

Jonathan turned away from Jace's corpse and moved back into the circle. He swept the white strands of hair away from his face. He needed a moment to compose himself. He would not call Asmodeus in this perplexed and bothered state. And then another shock. Jace leaped down in front of him. Once again he was whole and well. No trace of the gaping wound to his chest. The blood and bruises that had been evident on him just a moment ago had disappeared.

"How? How do you keep doing this?!" Jonathan yelled out in amazement as he skirted back, away from the lighted seraphs that Jace flung down at him.

"The angel is on my side," Jace explained calmly. "It's over now. I don't know how you've disguised yourself in Valentine's body but I know it's you. It's time to die."

Jace was a blur of white and gold as the seraph blades crossed paths through Jonathan's head. It flung away from his body as it fell over, the black red blood pumping out and covering Jace with its spray. Jace stood there, motionless. The rise and fall of his chest the only indication that he breathed and lived.

A portal opened up a hundred yards away and a pack of wolves streamed out.

"Jace!" a familiar voice yelled out in relief.

He could not move his eyes away from Jonathan's headless body but he knew this voice and it slowly drew him away from the grisly sight. He knew it was Izzy when he felt her arms wrap around his neck and lowered him down to her embrace.

"Oh, Jace! You're okay! Thank the Angel. We were so worried!" she sobbed into him. She did not seem to notice or care that he was covered in Jonathan's blood and that it smeared all over her as she held him tightly.

"Clary!" Luke screamed out.

That woke him. That brought him back. She was the only thing that could end this nightmare.

"She's fine. She's at the cottage. She's waiting for me there," Jace spoke up and moved Izzy off him.

"No! No!" Simon's hands gripped his head, practically tearing out his hair.

Jace moved toward them. He didn't know why but he felt as if everything was rolling out in slow motion. He saw Luke fall to the ground, his hands down, his face twisted and anguished. Simon stood shaking, his hands clawed and covering his face, his head moving back and forth in denial. The other wolves surrounded the pair. All eyes were trained on the ground in front of them and they were certainly not looking at Jonathan's remains. Jace turned back to check that Jonathan was indeed dead. He could see that death had transformed Jonathan back to himself. There was no mistaking Jonathan's dismembered and gory head.

He was only a few steps away from the wolf pack when the swirl of long red curls on the ground stopped him. He could move no further. He could see no further than the hair and he knew it was over. Everything was over. At that moment, the shock, the trauma of everything he had just experienced came crashing down on him; sliced apart by Jonathan's heavy sword, the incredible pain when he had been healed and restored, the single minded viciousness that spurred him forward to finally end Jonathan. He could actually feel his heart harden and turn to stone. All of the light and beauty in the world was gone. It was all darkness and blood. There was nothing left of what he had been. She was gone.

* * *

 **There will be an epilogue. Don't be hating. I always meant for it to end this way.**


	29. Epilogue

"Great Consul, your Council awaits," Claudius announced.

A sniveling, obsequious man, Jace wondered how such a man could prove an effective shadowhunter but he supposed they were all sycophants at his presence. It was his thirtieth year as Consul and a decade since he was proclaimed Grand Consul, an unprecedented lifetime appointment that also granted him absolute rule over the Clave. There was still a Council but they served him and functioned as an advisory board that he appointed. Jace nodded succinctly so that Claudius knew he had been heard. Claudius lowered his head and stepped out of the library, careful not to turn his back from the Grand Consul until he had stepped out of the room and shut the door behind him.

He was almost fifty. He still felt strong and capable of leading any battle but there had only been a long stretch of peace and order since the Great Demonic Wars. That had been a satisfying time. Busy, productive. Well over a decade of non-stop fighting and it was now rounding into the fifteenth year since the Nephilim had sealed the gateways and there had been no further demonic activity. He walked over to the giant golden statue bearing his likeness. It was ostentatious, over twenty feet in height, bright, glittering diamonds lodged in its eyes. It had been created to memorialize his victory over Azazel. He was thirty-three when he led the Nephilim to repel the demon lord.

Valentine had promised the mortal cup to Azazel and even though Valentine had expired, Azazel insisted the mortal cup was owed to him. A brutal war ensued, more than three quarters of the existing Nephilim were slain but Jace would not give up and finally a pitch battle with the mortal sword awarded to him drove Azazel and his hordes out of this world.

Jace longed to return to those days, years when he had no time alone, no time to reflect on his life, what he envisioned for his future. There were days so bleak that nobody believed there would be a tomorrow to imagine. The human population had also suffered but the decimation was disguised as insidious plagues and warfare amongst themselves. During the Demonic Wars, the Nephilim had to reinforce their ranks with newly ascended shadowhunters and had not had the time for the rigorous years of training that would normally weed out most of the unworthy. Many ascending candidates had perished, well more than half that drank from the cup. It had been a necessity that Jace had advocated and convinced the Clave to accept during the first year of his Consulship, the youngest Consul ever, just shy of his twentieth year.

He wondered blandly if any of the remaining Lightwoods would make an appearance at the Clave assembly today. It had been many years since he saw any of them. He had lost count. Truth be told, he hadn't bothered to keep track. It seemed one day he woke and realized they had ceased visiting him and he could not tell if it had been weeks, months or years since he last saw any of them. The parabatai rune on his arm was still a deep black but it had no meaning for him. He ignored any sensations that it seemed to draw from the shared connection until he no longer felt anything. And that was good. He was grateful for any moment when he couldn't feel.

The Clave meeting today would announce Jace's decision on shadowhunter and downworlder interactions. The Accords had not been renewed. There had been no reason since demons had been abolished. Now all active duty for the Nephilim centered around containment and policing the Downworlders. Jace was ambivalent where it regarded Downworlder policies and generally accepted the Council's recommendations. They wanted to ban Nephilim-Downworlder unions. The shadowhunters' place was to oversee and regulate Downworlders. Personal relationships between these races were viewed disapprovingly. Jace only felt an undefined resentment against their kind. He did not try to understand it. One time, long ago, he believed they were allies but … they failed him. The only time he had ever needed anything from any of them, they were not there. The wolves, the warlock had not saved … his heart. It was dead now and he accepted it. It was the only way to survive.

He moved through the connecting doors into his personal chambers to put on the long black cloak he wore for Clave rulings. His attire was simple. For all the grandeur of his residence, he shirked anything other than the plain black garments that marked him as a shadowhunter warrior. He had the cloak draped over his shoulders when he heard a commotion outside his door.

"I'm going in there. I need to see him and you are not stopping me," an angry female voice spoke belligerently.

Jace opened the door just as it was flung open by a very flustered Isabelle. Three pairs of hands were gripping various parts of her torso in an effort to hold her back.

"Let her go," Jace told them and the three guards lowered their heads and hands and slunk away.

Isabelle rolled her shoulders back, straightened her black slacks and navy blouse and stood tall. She was about to step into Jace's room when he stopped her.

"Not in here. We go in there where I conduct my meetings," Jace led her into the adjoining library and sat behind his large marble desk. He gestured at the chairs in front of the desk as an invitation for her to sit. A hard look formed on Isabelle's face as she took a seat in from of Jace.

"It's been a long time," she started and clasped her hands together.

Jace looked her over. She looked much the same as when he last saw her. The years had been good to her. Although she looked much more like Maryse when she raised him so many years ago.

"You never met my children. I have two now. The eldest is in the Academy. Perhaps you know him?" she continued a little nervously.

"Enough prattle. You came here for a reason. Out with it." Jace sat back and looked at her coldly. The sight of her brought back too many memories that he wanted to avoid.

Isabelle shut her mouth and swallowed back the hurt. She had hoped time would have healed some part of the wounds he sustained. He had never been the same. Everyone revered him, his tactical skills, his fighting prowess and heralded accomplishments but Izzy knew this Jace was a deeply wounded creature. Someone who would never let anyone close to him again.

"You should know why I'm here. How can you do this? How can you condone these new proposals? They're outrageous and just … completely … immoral," Isabelle cried out.

"So that's it," Jace exhaled. "Well I haven't made a final decision yet. It's the Council that wants to outlaw Nephilim relationships with Downworlders. You know … I couldn't care less."

"How can you say that? How can you be this way?" Izzy was on the verge of the tears she had promised herself she would not shed. "You know I'm married to a Downworlder and Alec … Magnus … How can you just completely feel nothing for us?"

Izzy began to shake as the magnitude of despair overwhelmed her. "My children have wereblood and yet the Shadowhunter traits are dominant. What would happen to them under the new ordinances? My husband, Simon, would you separate us?"

Jace's eyes grew cold, the gold seemed to freeze over. It was a look that Isabelle had seen too many times and dreaded.

"Shall I make all my executive decisions based on my familial ties from years bygone? Is that what you would have of me?" he asked her, his voice cool and uncompromising.

"No. How could I ask that when you have broken those ties? You have chosen to have nothing to do with us, the people who loved you and love you still. No … I ask that you find yourself again, Jace. I … I … know … the true Jace … the boy I knew had the truest, bravest heart and was willing to sacrifice himself over and over again for those he loved. I know he would never condone these measures. Please, Jace, I beg you." By this time Izzy was sobbing wholeheartedly.

"I will make a decision for the good of the Clave … in its entirety," Jace responded but Izzy could hear something different in his voice, something that gave her a small spark of hope.

She wiped the tears from her face then looked at him to see if what she detected in his voice was evident in his face.

His face was hard, no trace of emotion on it but he spoke tenderly, " I'm sorry … Izzy … I cannot allow myself to feel. I would not … I could not … survive it."

Izzy got up and ran around the large marble desk to put her arms around him. "Please, Jace. Please. We love you. We will help you. I know, I know … it destroyed you … but, you know she would never have wanted this. I … I still have the letter."

He had allowed her embrace and that was something but she could feel him … his body turning icy again and hard at the mention of her and her letter.

"I threw that into the fire … how do you have it?" he asked in a whisper.

Izzy lifted her head from his shoulder and looked up into the golden eyes she had once known so well. "I … I pulled it out … before it could burn away. She loved you, Jace. She loved you so much and this," Izzy turned her head around to view Jace, the room, the empty splendor, "was never what she would have wanted for you."

A crack seemed to form in his eyes before he closed them again. "Don't say her name. Don't do it. Leave the letter and go."

"Jace," Izzy held onto his shoulders desperately hoping she could force him to feel again.

Jace's eyes opened and they returned to the cold stones that had transformed his heart that terrible night so long ago.

"Then she shouldn't have left me. She should have lived. Then Luke and Simon and Magnus and Alec and you should have been there sooner. Then I … I should have died. I should have saved her but no, she's gone and the Jace you knew is gone with her. We both died that night and nothing can change that." He took her hands and pulled her off him.

Izzy's head sank and the tears fell unbidden and uncontrolled. She got up and was about to walk out before Jace called her back.

"Isabelle … the letter. I want it," he said softly but commandingly. She tried to see on his face what he meant to do with it. It was their last connection to her. Jace had been thorough in his efforts to wipe away all traces of her existence except of course there was his daughter. Why he would create this living reminder of someone he could not even name was baffling but she had read the letter enough times to know that was what Clary had wanted and even if he could not honor the intent behind her requests he had not been able to deny her anything she asked of him.

She pulled out the letter, well-worn and singed at the edges. She left it in front of his desk.

"Ave atque vale, my brother. I doubt we will see each other again," she said to him and rushed out of the room.

Jace sat immobile for several minutes, breathing in and out, working hard to calm the onslaught of emotions that threatened to break the dams he had erected. He could feel the emotions receding. The dams held strong. But suddenly he could not fight the urge and he opened the top drawer of his desk to pull out the small framed photo that Izzy had given him shortly after the end at Idris, when they had returned to the NY Institute. His eyes hungrily devoured the image in the small photo. It was his angel. They had been sitting in the couch in the NY Institute library. Jace ignored his own distorted face, crossing his eyes at Izzy as she snapped the photo. She was all he could see, sitting next to him, looking up at him. She was breathtakingly beautiful. Her long red hair curling over her shoulders and brushing against him. Her green eyes wide and sparkling as they looked up at him, adoringly, devotedly. His arm was slung protectively over her shoulder and their hands were clasped together. He would pay for this. He would pay for this dearly and the sight of her brought the surge of emotion he knew and feared it would. She was the light of his life, his only and truest love, and now he had nothing. He felt the ache, the terrible ache in his chest. If only he could hold her again. How easy it had been. How wonderful his life had been. Despite everything he would gladly live every moment with her over and over again to be able to see her, feel her breath, her lips on his. He put the picture down, back in the velvet pocket he kept in the back of the drawer.

The sound of light footsteps almost startled him. He knew the Council, the Clave awaited him but they would not dare press him before he was ready to see them. Then he realized. It was Adele, his daughter. She was thirteen and beginning her shadowhunter training. She was very gifted by all accounts though he saw no evidence of this himself. He did not like to see her. Her long red hair was quite a few shades lighter than … but it was similar enough to make it difficult to breathe.

She stared at him boldly in a way no other person would ever look at him, even her mother. "Who was that? That woman who just left?"

"Adele, why are you here?" Jace asked.

"I saw her. She looked … shaken up. Did you … threaten her?" she asked more curious than anything else.

"No. Why aren't you at the Academy or with your mother? I thought we agreed you didn't like it here, with me," Jace continued.

"Mom's been worried about you," she spoke unconcernedly. "She knows you don't want to see her so she asked me to check on you."

Jace sat back in his chair, his frustration tightening his shoulders. "She has no reason to concern herself with my welfare. I imagine she is well cared for as well as yourself."

Adele started walking around the room. She was too tall, thought Jace. She would be close to Izzy's height when full grown he observed. He tried to clamp down on these unwanted thoughts but it seemed he lacked his usual control. He thought of when he had first seen Adele's mother, a mundane. Her name was Lorraine. She was a skilled artist with a glorious head of long red hair and blue green eyes, a sprinkling of freckles on her creamy skin. He had not known what came over him but he had allowed her to see him and briefly pretended to be someone he gave up long ago. He simulated interest in her life, her cares and it had been so easy to make her want him. He'd had to explain what he was and what she had to do to be with him, the risks of ascending, but she was eager. She wanted him more than anything and for a short while, it seemed bearable. She ascended and then became pregnant. They had planned to marry but as they stood before the witnesses and he had his stele out to trace the runes on her he found he could not do it. The idea that the old runes he still carried, the barest white traces of lines, would be written over and disappear completely had overwhelmed him. He had not run off like a coward. He merely put his stele down, apologized and told her he simply could not do it and left. He did not believe there was any animosity between them. He did everything he could to take care of her and their daughter. They were named benefactors to all he owned. But he did not want to see either of them. When once he found some comfort from Lorraine, now all he saw was a blatant reminder of all he had lost and how nothing and nobody no matter how kind and good and loving they were to him could ever replace her.

"So are you doing it?" Adele interrupted his thoughts. "Will you take yet another step towards stomping out the Downworlders? You know, those seals aren't permanent. Someday, the demons may get back in … and we will need the Downworlders on our side."

"That is not the purpose of these new policies. Nephilim must be raised above all others in this world. That is our place. That is all it is," Jace said but began to wonder if that were true. He knew she would not have wanted this. She had loved Luke and Simon. She had firmly believed Valentine's plans to decimate downworlders was psychotic and monstrous.

"Very well … father," Adele stated. She eyed him grudgingly then turned and left him.

Jace let his eyes wander to the letter Izzy left on his desk. He thought he would take it outdoors, rip it into pieces and let it fly away in the wind but as soon as he held it he could not stop himself from unfolding it and … seeing her again. It was her handwriting, rushed and blotted in some parts but it was as if the words had engraved themselves into his soul. He had only read them once before but they had never been forgotten.

 _Dear Jace,_

 _My love, my heart, my everything. Please, please forgive me. I should have told you but I was so afraid of what it all meant and I didn't want to believe it. I know what I have to do now. I know you will live and you will be great, a shadowhunter above all others. There was a rune I never showed you, To Divine. It showed me your death at Valentine's hand and it made me crazy. I couldn't let that happen. And now there is a new rune, To Transform. I know I must use it to become you, to be Jace Wayland and fulfill what the future demands. But that is not who you are or will be._

 _My darling, you are Jace Herondale. You will have a daughter, a very beautiful girl. Jonathan told me you are lying by the ash tree so grievously wounded that you cannot come to me. I know he tells the truth. I will be at your side in a few moments and I promise you, I will heal you. If my abilities mean anything that is something I will do, but I cannot stay. You will be angry. You will hurt but know that I love you more than anything. In the short time we were together and wedded, I have been happier than I ever dreamed possible. I wish we had a lifetime together but it is more important that you survive and be the man I saw you become. You must live and find another, have that beautiful red haired child that I saw with you._

 _If there is a life after this one, I promise I will wait for you even if you no longer want me by then, I will always wait for you._

 _Forever,_

 _Clary_

As he read the words, he imagined her writing them out frantically, pressing against the pen, creating the blots that streaked the letter. He had tried to destroy it the first time he finished the letter. He was so dead to the world at that time that all he felt was a pervasive numbness and when he began to feel something his first instinct was to destroy it, preserve the thin grasp he had on his sanity. She wanted him to live and he would live and the only way to do that was to wipe out everything that would make him think of her. It had been a blessing, really, the war with Azazel and his demon army. He knew he would never have made it all those years without the distraction. But now? Now he let the words wash over him and he let himself think over what it meant and what it could mean. She had sacrificed herself for him. The role he had always taken for all those he loved, she had seized it from him. She would not allow him to die for her. That was her. That was his angel. Still, he could not say her name. They very thought of it pierced him like a sharp needle through his heart. But … but he did not want to bury his memories of her. Not this time. This time he reveled in their short time together. He had never known such happiness and would never know it again. She had been everything. She was everything. She still was everything. He finally let himself acknowledge this terrible truth. After all these years nothing had changed. He realized gratefully that he had fulfilled all that she had seen. He had accomplished all that she asked of him and now. Now there was nothing left. A smile broke through when this knowledge came to him. He wanted to thank Izzy. If it weren't for her, he would have continued on, an empty shell working through the motions, pretending to be someone alive.

Jace pulled out the official Grand Consul stationery and wrote out his decree. He rejected the proposal. There would be no ban on Nephilim and Downworlder relationships. Actions should be taken to renew the Accords and the Grand Consulship would end with the current Council disbanded. Consuls would once again be elected by the Clave for their ten year terms and would only have the powers to assemble the Council and Clave as they had prior to his appointment. He named Alec and Izzy as temporary guardians of the Clave government to ensure the transition. He folded the paper and used his official seal to bind it.

Finally, he let the memories flood back, his first sight of her, the way an electric current ran through his fingertips at their touch, the way her emerald eyes lit up at the sight of him, the way his heart raced whenever she was near, the feel of her sinewy yet soft body beneath him, the taste of her, so sweet and so pure in his mouth.

"Clary," he uttered and he felt his heart pounding, racing through his chest and he was glad, so glad that he could say her name and acknowledge the love that would never die.

* * *

Claudius returned to the Grand Consul's chambers and could not find him. He then searched for him in the adjoining library. It had been many hours since they last spoke and the Council and Clave Assembly had grown anxious and worried. Master Herondale never kept them waiting this long. Claudius did not want to disturb the Great Consul. The man was a legend. He never felt worthy in his presence. When he finally crept into his library he found the Master on the floor. His eyes were open but there was a look of such peace and contentment on his face it was hard to believe the Great Consul had expired. A few quick shakes and his head held down on the Master's chest confirmed the unthinkable. He was dead. He had left them.

* * *

Jace was surrounded by lush greenery. I'm still in Idris, he thought. He looked down at his hands. They were youthful hands, unlined and unmarked by time. He walked through the high grass, wildflowers bright in purples, pinks and blues parted as he passed through and then … ahead … he saw someone, more than one. It was his angel. Her red hair glowed and moved like fire. Beside her was Jonathan. His white blonde hair blowing wildly as a refreshing breeze moved through them. They held hands and waited for him, sharing the same eager and happy expression.

His angel dropped Jonathan's hand and ran to him. He opened his arms and she jumped into them. He lifted her up and hugged her so tight he was afraid it might cause her some pain but he couldn't loosen his hold and she only laughed gleefully, covering his face with kisses.

"Jace! I've been waiting for you. I've missed you so much," she sighed into his ear.

"Clary, I love you, I love you, I love you," he answered.

And then they kissed and everything else slid away. He was whole again. He was himself again.

He could sense Jonathan's presence before he could feel any physical indication. He broke the kiss with Clary reluctantly but kept her tightly clasped in his arms to turn to him.

"I'm glad you're here, brother," Jonathan said softly. His eyes were warm and a shocking bright green. "You don't know how much she missed you. Drove me crazy. I can finally leave her alone," he sighed and patted Jace on the back before he turned and walked away.

"Do you forgive me?" Clary asked breathlessly. "Do you still want me?"

"Are you crazy?" Jace asked her. "All I've ever wanted was you. All I'll ever want is you." He bent his head down to extend their kiss. The bliss that enveloped him was all encompassing. He could no longer even imagine the depleted shell he had been before this moment. He knew he would never let her go again.


	30. A New Chapter

Clary and Jace lay idly in the grassy fields. It was a favorite pastime, to lie on the fragrant grass, watch the colors of the sky change from the cool break of dawn to the bright yellows and vibrant blues as the hours passed and then the lush orange, purple and pinks before the sun set and twilight ushered in the purples, midnight blues and the starry speckled skies. Sometimes they didn't bother returning to their home for weeks. Or at least she thought it was weeks. For all she knew it could have been years.

It was a wonderful existence here with Jace. Every moment together, loving each other. They had not spent a moment apart since Jace first arrived and there was truly nothing she could complain about. But one day she started thinking about what their lives might be like if they truly lived and were not trapped in this endless unchanging state. What if they could grow old together, have children, watch those children grow and have their own children, deal with all the trials and tribulations of a normal life, watching each other age, grow wiser, and alter with the passing years. She knew she was happy but couldn't help feeling that something was missing.

She held her tongue for a long time. Then one day after they had feasted on a meal of freshly picked fruits and berries she turned to Jace who was staring off into the distance and wondered if he might share these thoughts that always seemed to brim at the edges of her mind.

"Darling," she moved closer to him and placed herself on his lap, her hands moving around his neck.

"My love," he smiled down at her as his own hands went around her waist.

"I've been thinking," she looked closely into his golden eyes trying to detect any hidden desires behind them.

"What have you been thinking?" he grinned, his eyes clear and shining.

"I've been thinking it may be time to go back, to start over again," she watched a frown form on his face. "You know you're everything to me and this is paradise, being with you but … I want to live a full life with you. I want to have those babies I wasn't ready for so long ago. I want to raise a family together, grow old together," she stopped then and waited for his response.

The frown on his face faded away at her words and was replaced with surprise. "Growing old isn't so great," he finally said with a smirk and wrapped her closer against him. "And children …" his face went blank. "I messed that up when I had my chance," he continued.

"That was my fault, darling. I should never have put that on you. I didn't know how your heart would close off after ..." Clary assured him.

"No, that was me. I didn't have to be that way. I knew it was wrong," Jace shook his head.

"Jace, are you sorry you had your daughter? She's a wonderful girl. You should never be sorry for bringing such beauty, grace, strength and intelligence into the world," she kissed him gently.

"No, I'm not sorry for that but I am sorry for what I did to her mother and how I couldn't love her the way she should have been loved," Jace spoke contritely.

Clary put her hands on his face and cupped it, turning his eyes to her. "That wasn't you. The Jace I know could fill up the world with so much love there wouldn't be room for anything else," she said with certainty.

"For you. Only for you," he answered, his eyes warming with love.

"So, you don't want to try again?" she asked patiently. "Jonathan left us a long time ago. Is he braver than us?" she teased.

"That's not why he left," Jace answered. "There's nothing else we could need or want outside of here and he wanted to find that too. He wanted to have a real life, not overcast by demonic possession, to be true to who he really is and could be and then, hopefully, find his own eternal love."

He bent his head down to kiss her and she knew from the way he pressed down on her open lips they would soon be molded into each other, making love.

"Jace," she pushed him off gently. "I want to have a whole life with you. I want to have your children."

His face clouded over. "But, we won't be together … like we are here. There will be other people and things in our way. What if we don't find each other?"

"Do you really think that's possible?" she asked doubtingly. "I know I could never be complete until I found you. And all those other 'things' are part of what makes us who we truly are. Don't you want to try?"

Jace sighed. "I just know what it was like without you and I know I never want to feel like that again."

Clary smiled at him. "I promise. I won't rest until I find you … and make you mine."

Jace looked at her, his love and adoration overflowing in his eyes. "I am yours. I will always be yours." Then he looked down and whispered, "I'm afraid of what I'll turn into without you."

Clary held him tighter. "Jace, before you knew me you were still you. This amazing, brave, loving person, the strongest, most alive person I had ever met."

Jace lifted his eyes at her then, "Clary, those things … I only became after I met you."

Clary shook her head and smiled at him," That's not true, Jace. I know Alec and Izzy, all of the Lightwoods and even Valentine couldn't help but love you. I will find you. Do you believe me?"

A tumult of conflicting emotions seemed to war with each other in his eyes but finally he nodded, "You know I'd do anything you asked me to. You know I can't deny you anything. Even … letting you go."

Clary wrapped herself around him. She hoped she was doing the right thing. She knew this was important, that as idyllic as their current existence was, they were missing something and they would never be complete without it.

"I love you, Jace. Now, let's make love," she whispered in his ear and lost herself in their impassioned embrace.

* * *

 **So, an opening for new Clace stories. No ideas yet, but if something comes to me … I'm working on a new story about Jace's daughter, Adele, and Izzy's/Simon's kids. Hope you're interested.**


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